


The Hero With No Name

by Ommallaredpanda



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Anakin is a Bit Not Good, Angst, As in he is a Sith Lord, Chewie Can't do a Thing About it Because Plot, Chewie Knows, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, F/M, Gen, Han and Vader Bonding, How Do I Tag, I Can't Write Humour, I Don't Know a Thing About this Universe, I will get Stuff Wrong, Identity is a Giant Angsty Secret, Leia and Han are Clueless, Nobody Knows Vader is Vader, Not A Fix-It, Post-Return of the Jedi, R2 and Vader Bonding, Small Identity Crisis, Star Trek References, Swearing, Tatooine Slave Culture, Think Merlin With Space Wizards, Vader Adventure, Vaderkin, bear with me, its confusing, pre-force awakens
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-24
Updated: 2018-03-08
Packaged: 2019-03-23 09:39:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 20,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13784781
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ommallaredpanda/pseuds/Ommallaredpanda
Summary: Darth Vader is left on board the second Death Star. Luke does not take him on his ship, leaving the dead weight of his father too soon and too sure of his death to check, or to have that last conversation.Two years later, a heavily scarred, limbless man arrives in a stasis shuttle at a Resistance base inhabited by the now married couple; Han Solo and Leia Organa. Their son has been kidnapped by the First Order, and are desperate both for extra help and information. When, before their eyes, the man completely heals and it becomes obvious he was an Imperial, they speak. This man is Darth Vader and, unknown to them, the last hope they have of saving their son.Anakin Skywalker (known to the Resistance simply as Anakin Naberrie) tags along with his daughter and son in law, hoping to be the help that they need.Along the way, they will stop off at many planets (including Mustaffar and Tatooine), find new and old friends, and come face to face with ancient enemies. As if it won't be hard enough; the First Order is known to be building a third version of the coveted Death Star.Far better than this summary; I promise!Updated semi-regularly and no beta-reader.Enjoy!





	1. Awakening

**Author's Note:**

> I am NOT a Star Wars nerd: I've only watched them about once or twice. However, I love our poor, lost soul Anakin/Vader, so this will be Ani-centric. Set right after Return of the Jedi (Clone Wars is in this fic), including lots of angst and fluff (maybe humor, too), so keep your eyes peeled! No slash (well, mentions don't count because you can't have Ani-centric without mentions of Padmé)! Oh, and I'm sticking with Hayden as Ani, so yeah. And, I am twisting this universe beyond recognizable after Vader's death, so be prepared.  
> Warning: my writing isn't great, and I can't do humour for the life of me. If it is out of character or plain terrible, then I am sorry!  
> Cross-posted on FF.Net.

His breaths were coming in ragged gasps, the unfiltered air ripping clean through his ravaged lungs, as his eyes squinted against the light doing its best to saw open his skull. Against the blinding glare, a silhouette. He could just about hear words sluggishly worming into his ears, but he could make nothing more of them than meaningless sounds.

The Force, however, had not abandoned him. The ancient power wrapped around his body, almost comfortingly. Slowly, the feeling focused until he knew who the silhouette belonged to, but he was too late. His burnt lips parted as his led tongue attempted to find the words that would return the retreating figure to his side.

A soft rasp, too muted to be heard, struggled past his aching throat. The shadow continued to retreat, the panicked footsteps increasing into a run until they died away, the blaring alarms only now ripping at his sensitive senses.

Alone, his eyes eventually slipped shut as he listened to his own breathing for the first time in twenty three years. The absent rasping wheeze of his respirator leaving the silence echoing with his soft heaving, so unlike normal breathing, but still as close as he could ever come again.

Blaring sirens fading away, Darth Vader slid into blackness.

 _Beep_!

 _Beep_!

 _Beep_!

Such an irritating sound. Irritating and horrifically familiar.

 _Beep_!

 _Beep_!

The surface beneath him was soft and pliable. A mattress?

 _Beep_!

Yes, probably.

 _Beep_!

That sound was driving him out of his head. The infernal noise ricocheting about his skull relentlessly.

 _Beep_!

Comfortable swathes of cloth had been draped over him from the… from his shoulders down. That was… unusual. Uncomfortable.

 _Beep_!

Unfamiliar. Unlike the infuriating, static, monotonous and Force-cursed  _beep_ ing!

…

The sound decidedly halted with a satisfying crunch, leaving the man alone with his thoughts. He didn't know where he was and…

Start with the basics – something taught to all younglings.

The man jack knifed straight up, his neck stinging unpleasantly.

 _Younglings_ …!

 _Where was he_?

He was supposed to be  _dead_ , where no more harm could come to him (and everyone else) and he could just curl into a ball and ignore everything!

He had  _died_  saving his son from his Master, only to reawaken where he was most certainly unwelcome.

A faint rattling filled the room, panic immediately setting into the confused man.

Automatically, he pulled up his legs, crossing them into the peculiar way he had been taught when he was nine. His breathing stabilized and the trembling fled both his body and the room.

Head bowed, he opened his eyes, only to freeze in shock.

He stared at one pale hand (the other a prosthetic shell) resting where  _his_  hands should be, on where  _his_  legs should be. He just stared, until one of the fingers on the left hand cricked, very,  _very_  slightly.

With a startled yelp, the man tumbled from the bed, desperately scrambling from the disembodied extremity. He jumped immediately to his feet, wobbling and tottering before he collapsed.

 _What was happening_?!

He lifted an incredibly light arm and yanked himself up with the bed frame's help. At the sight of the limb, his eyes bugged uncharacteristically.

The limb wasn't encased in cumbersome black armor. It wasn't even a tangle of wires and metal. It was smooth, fair skin. Muscular and real. Tangible.  _Human_.

It was  _his_  arm!

He gawked. His other hand came up and he gawked at that one, too (prosthetic or not, anything was better than that blank blackness of his suit). He poked the skin of his left ( _human_ ) arm, still staring. The shocked silence was filled with quiet, muted breaths.

Eventually, he stood, legs still shaking. Cautiously, the man sat back on the edge of the bed. He grabbed his leg and rolled up the material covering it to see the same, smooth skin. Twisting, he turned to see the back of his knee, checking for something.

A grin split his face; he found it! A birth mark roughly the size of his thumb he used to absolutely despise. Before he got burned almost to death on Mustafar, that is. Now, he had never been more joyous to see something he hated.

Carefully letting down the pant leg, he sat on the bed, utterly confused. He knew he wasn't dead, but he was whole again (apart from his right arm). How was that possible?

He stood and began to pace. The feeling was so… freeing. He hadn't moved properly like this for over two decades. The tottering smoothed out within moments as he relaxed back into the familiar motion.

The amazing sensation of standing unaided upon his own two feet speedily demolished the brooding aura gathering about him.

He was free!

The man turned again as he hit the edge of the room and set off in a run. It soon became a sprint as he neared the wall to his left. Confidently, he pushed off from the metal ground and sped along the wall for a few paces before twisting again to push off from the ceiling, flip in mid-air a plonk down onto the bed, legs once again crossed.

He loved this far too much to think about where he was and who did this to him, but he would kiss the ground at their feet 'till he wore a hole in the floor when he found them.

Leaping from the bed to return to pacing, his grin exposed pearly white teeth.

Now, he needed to find a mirror. How did he look? How would a fourty five year old Anakin Skywalker look?

A thorough search revealed a floor length mirror on the inside door of a wardrobe he had overlooked.

Staring into the reflection, he expected to see greying, short hair. Maybe a chin of untidy stubble.

What was actually staring back at him was far, far worse. Or better. He couldn't decide.

Better, because a forty five year old Sith  _or_  Jedi wouldn't be able to do the acrobatics he had just performed, no matter how fit or Force sensitive. The image before him was of himself, exactly as he had been moments from a fiery dismemberment at the hands of Obi-Wan.

His fingers automatically reached up to brush the edge of his cheek, flinching as the skin made contact.

His eyes were blue, a slight glint of feral yellow scattered among his irises; the only sign of who he was. The scar over his right eye was clearly visible, just as it had been before he received his numerous burns. Once again, his head was home to horrifically messy, light brown hair. His clothes consisted of a plain beige tank top and baggy cargo pants, his feet enclosed by thin-soled trainers.

He looked so  _different_. Different from Vader, but also from Anakin. Vader wore a feared mask; he wheezed and carried himself stiffly. Anakin had been relaxed and cocky, the terrible things he had witnessed and committed carried upon his shoulders with ease.

He was neither of those people. His back was straight, yet the cocky jaunt to his stance remained. The eyes staring at him held the fierceness of a Sith's, yet they also contained clearly distinguishable grief and fear, if you knew where to look.

He was neither of the people he had been before, but the resemblance to Anakin was uncanny. He looked like the young Sith would have done if he had matured past his age.

Killing billions, if not trillions of sentients did that sort of thing to you.

But, even gloomy thoughts like that couldn't stop his lips from stretching into the biggest darn beaming grin the universe had ever seen.

Because he was  _back_! Back, not as Vader, but as himself. He didn't need the mask now, and he was pretty certain he'd have a panic attack if he ever found one on his face again.

However, something was missing. He ran his fingers through his hair, ruffling the messy locks even more, but also shifting them into the style he had worn before all of this. He thought, gaze searching for what was wrong.

He quickly found it.

There was no lightsaber hanging from his utility belt. He felt and looked strangely empty without it hooked to his waist. With a meditative hum, the man turned back to the bed and sat down. His legs dangled from the end and he slowly swung them, rejoicing in the itchy feeling of cloth rubbing against none-synthesized skin.

The almost silent sound of his breathing was incredibly calming, leaving the man alone with his thoughts for the first time in far, far too long.

Who was he?

What was his name?

These questions floated by him as the Force wrapped about his new body, securing him in peace. The simple joy of actually feeling the sheets beneath his fingertips leading to an uninterrupted state of calm.

He did not need to confront those questions now; not yet. He could just float here and ignore the world for a little while longer. Until his capturers made themselves known, that was what he would do.

Float.

"I want to see him!" The Rebel she was arguing with was starting to cower rather impressively beneath her glare, "Now!"

Han sighed, "Look who's a spoiled Princess?" The glare turned his way. He sighed, "I didn't mean anything by it, darling! It's just that it may not be the best thing if you go in blasters blazing on the guy! He just had over seventy percent of his cells regrown!"

She glowered at her husband, "I really don't care. He might know  _something_  about the whereabouts of Vader! And, he is the  _only_  living person from aboard that battle station – he probably knows far too much to just let him  _sit there_!" She gestured angrily at the holo-vid showcasing the man sitting atop his bed, head bowed.

Han chuckled, "Calm it, Princess! The First Order isn't going to do anything, okay?" The woman looked away, eyes starting to mist, "Look… We've had them on the run for two years now. That's not going to change."

"It will… When will be able to get him  _back_ , Han?" She sighed, her head falling to her hands, "We need to know everything we can. This man has probably committed terrible acts – he's an Imperial, for crying out loud!"

"Look, I agree with you, sweet cheeks, but we won't get anything out of the bastard if he's scared senseless by our warrior Princess here, okay?" Han knelt down and looked up at his wife, hands firmly on her elbows, "Like I said, he has regained over half his body and is probably in shock. Either way, if we say we were the ones to restore him, he's gonna want to help us any way he can, agreed?"

Again, the politician sighed, fingers coming up to stroke the man's face, "Yes, Han…" She looked down and to the side, unhappy, "It's just that our baby is being taken further and further away from us every second, and he could help…!"

"I know, Leia, I know. Just saying that it's probably best to let the guy get over the shock before interrogating him," Han gripped her arms tighter, the man smiling gently up at her, "It'll give us the best chance to get him to speak. You get that, right?"

She grumbled at him, face once again filling with indignant rage, "No, I don't! He could tell us where Ben is and we're giving him time to  _adjust_! He can do that  _after_  I know where our baby is! Not a moment later!" She turned on her heel, incredibly long, intricate braids lashing into Han's face, "I will see the prisoner," The poor soldier before her shook her head defiantly, "Now!" She scrambled to the controls, hastily opening the door.

Leia stormed in, an aura of unrelenting anger swirling about her.

He sat, eyes closed, listening to the Force. Inside this room, it couldn't stretch out. It was trapped, just as he was. He couldn't sense what was occurring beyond the walls of his prison, leaving him blind to both their identity and their intentions.

He just hoped that they weren't a group of escaped Imperials, or affiliated in any way to the Rump State the Empire now undoubtedly was.

Knowing nothing outside of his room was utterly terrifying.

Before, whenever he had been captured, he had always known what was happening, why it was happening, which had captured and how to escape (the clankers didn't exactly make it challenging). This was an incredibly unwelcome turn of events, leaving him groping in pitch black.

His gloomy thoughts were interrupted, rather ironically, by the single door sliding open.

He stood immediately, blinking against the glare to see his captors.

At first he thought he had to be dead, because the angel stalking towards him looked exactly like his deceased wife, Padmé. Her white clothes billowed behind like furred wings and the too-bright light haloed her, highlighting the soft brown hair whirled up in an ornate braid before it hung down her back.

But, it wasn't Padmé; he knew that no more than a second later, as her face became clear in his vision. Her cheek bones were too low to be his wife, and her whole face only bore the woman's eyes and shape.

This was Princess Leia. His daughter and leader of the Rebellion.

The only possible worse situation he could be in would be if he had been captured by the Emperor and his two children had been turned to the Dark side.

He was very,  _very_  dead.

"Who are you?"

The words shocked him.

She didn't know who he was? Wasn't the armor obvious enough…? Oh, right. The armor was likely floating somewhere in space. Thank the Force.

Remembering, he snapped his mouth shut. Leia stormed further into his prison and glowered at him, "You are the only living Imperial we know off outside of the Order's base. You will tell me what you know of the First Order and where they have taken Ben. But before that, you will tell me your name and what you did aboard that station, prisoner."

Astounded by the cold ice in his daughter's voice, the man stood slightly straighter, his own anger beginning to rise at being talked down to so thoroughly. He could feel the Dark Force brushing against his mind, oh so very tempting. The flecks of burning yellow within his gaze flared brightly with indignation.

But, almost immediately, he clamped down hard on the emotions. He didn't know why, but letting his daughter see such a horrible thing in him cause him almost physical pain.

She stepped closer, attempting to intimidate him, "Your name, prisoner!"

"Anakin," The words were rolling from his tongue before he could stop himself, "Anakin… Naberrie."

The woman glared up at him for a moment, "And what did you do aboard the Death Star,  _Anakin Naberrie_?"

This was so unfair. He woke up about a day or two ago (after  _dying_ , and having completely gone against everything he had done for twenty three years before that to save his son before that, too) and now his  _daughter_  was interrogating him about what he did aboard the Death Star she had recently destroyed! What was he supposed to say?! 'Hi! I'm your dad and, oh, look at that, also your worst enemy and torturer? Sorry, I'm a changed man!'?!

To put it blandly, the poor Sith was having an (almost) panic attack.

"Err…" He would need to pick something carefully. If she was anything like him  _or_  Padmé, she would need the info for a mission. A mission he intended to participate in, "I was a pilot, miss. And a Commander. Helped build that station, too, miss, so you could say I'm good with my hands," Vader (or Anakin, he wasn't decided yet) smiled, trying to get it somewhere around hopeful, shy and far away from creepy. He could barely remember how to do it – there was no need to with the mask, but the way they didn't start staring or backing up was reassuring.

The man at the back walked forwards, his pace rambling and easy, "Hi, I'm Han. This crazy gal is my wife. Sorry about her," He smirked in a way that practically screamed 'women, what are their brains made of?' which their prisoner would have found hilarious at any other time, "But we really need to know about the First Order, okay? It's urgent."

The Sith cocked his head, curious, "Could you tell me what it is that you need the information for?" They looked at him, suspicion beginning to burn up their eyes.

"Look, kid, we just need the information, okay? It's none of your business why. And, since you're an Imperial, you're technically a terrorist, supporting a terrorist Rump State, okay?" Han stepped forwards, attempting to loom over the taller man, "So, I'd say it is  _very generous_  of us to have not killed you yet. The best way you can repay us for that is info, so, please."

Anakin raised a brow. This  _child_  was attempting to intimidate  _him_. He was at  _least_  ten years this arrogant man's senior and he was puny enough to only come up to his chin.

But still, he could barely get it out of his head that someone was trying  _to intimidate him_! Him! Of all people to try to intimidate, the midget had to choose the one person most likely to knock him on his arse (he'd had the audacity to marry his daughter, after all. He was justified) with a  _breath_. He was Darth Vader, intimidation personified – according to his poor Admirals, at least.

But, he couldn't laugh at them (despite the corners of his lips twitching upwards), because then he would have to explain why he was rolling around on the floor, snorting up his lungs. Then he would have to explain that he was Vader, their nemesis, and had found Han's intimidation attempt so ridiculous that even his hardened, 'villain' mentality had given way to uncontrollable laughter.

In short, it would be embarrassing to tarnish his feared Sith name with such depraved hilarity.

So, he held in his undignified snorts and squared up (or rather, down) to his daughter's husband and glared, "I'm ever so  _sorry_ , Han, but I cannot help you much there," The two barely hid the disappointment on their faces, "However, I do know an awful lot about the Empire that will be incredibly useful."

A disbelieving huff, "Like what? Any codes you provide us with will probably be long dead. You could also be a spy, even though that is unlikely. And the Empire is gone, Naberrie. Didn't you know that?"

"No. I most definitely didn't," But, the way they talked, it was quite easy to find out, "How long is it since the second Death Star got destroyed?"

The two blinked, shocked. This man had been asleep when he arrived in an escape pod, but they hadn't thought he could have been asleep  _that_  long! "This will come as quite a shock but… Two years. The Death Star was destroyed two years ago. And now another one is being built. We need to stop it."

Vader blinked, "Well, I'm guessing that this First Order is a… Rump State of the Empire. So, it will basically be the Empire, but smaller and more aggressive," The two were watching him, a small amount of respect tinging Han's eyes, "So I  _can_  help you. A lot, actually. Thing is, I'll need to come with you in order to do that."

"Who said we were going anywhere?"

Vader took that as an insult to his intelligence.

A derisive snort, "You obviously are. From how agitated you are, you are also looking for someone close to you. A daughter or son, most likely," At the way both of them immediately froze, he knew he had got it right, "And, you would be irresponsible leaders indeed if you took an entire army into battle to retrieve your offspring, so you plan on going yourselves. With some close friends too, probably. That or you're stupid. And, since none of you are Imperials, you will have no idea how to get through undetected. I do. You need me."

They stared, gob-smacked.

"Oh, and I'm an experienced fighter. With such a small group of people, you can use all the extra  _blasters_ ," The word tasted foul upon his tongue, but saying warriors or lightsabers would give him away, "You can get."

"But you're an Imperial and we are Alliance leaders. We blew up the battle station you were working on, and now you suddenly want to help us? We ain't mongs, pipsqueak. What do you want?" Han was looking decidedly put out and shaken. He hadn't expected the Imperial to be quite that observant. Or actually willing to help.

"Nothing much," He smirked in a way that Han thought best suited a mirror (when he was looking in it, of course), "Just an adventure. I've been locked up in that station for  _way_  too long."

 _That_  was the truest darn thing he'd said for over twenty years.

He had his old body back; fate was going to be hard pressed to keep him from messing everything up for as many unsavory characters he could. Anakin had always liked causing mischief.

Leia stared at him, obviously deciding whether or not to trust him.

"Let's get going, then. We set off at dawn," The woman smiled, hands on hips as she observed her newest crew member, "I'm Leia, this is Han and welcome aboard the  _Millennium Falcon_ , Anakin."

"This is a bucket of bolts."

"It is  _not_! This baby is the best ship this side of Coruscant!"

"You sure she can even fly? I mean, I've seen her from the station, but she must be two years older, now."

"She can  _fly_ , alright. Better than one of your nerf herding, ass licking piles of crap TIE fighters!"

Anakin (it was best if he started thinking of himself like that, it was what they called him) sighed, "I'll believe it when I see it…"

He then went on to mutter in Huttese about senile old fools for Captains.

Once aboard the ship, the trio met up with Chewbacca, C-3PO and R2-D2. The Sith was shocked, to say the least.

The ancient astromech obviously recognized him and whizzed over straight away, warbling ecstatically.

"Artoo! How the kriffing Force did you end up here?!" Anakin yelled, ecstatic, running over to the droid, "I thought you got blasted to smithereens back when my fighter got toasted! How'd you end up with these guys?"

Artoo warbled excitedly, running circles around his old master.

"Of course I missed you!"

More ridiculously excited electronic beeps, "Yes, my arm's holding out fine. No you don't need to repair it again. I can do that on my own!"

The droid whistled questioningly, rolling to a stop in front of Anakin.

"Padmé's fine, Artoo. And I quit doing that ages ago. And no, you can't bring it up  _ever again_. Remember?"

Wobbling on his rollers, Artoo bumped right into his master, giving him a droid hug (as close as they can get, anyway. That's why it's called a 'droid hug') which was returned immediately.

"You must be getting on a bit now, old buddy. About fifty, now, aren't you?" A warbling, reminiscent reply, "Right, let's see what I can do to get you back up to shape, then, shall we?"

And with that, their new member trotted off the bridge, leaving the original crew gawping.

"That… Was weird," Han looked over to his wife.

"At least we can agree on that…" She sighed, holding her hand against her head, "Threepio, do you remember that guy?"

The gold-plated droid sounded rather affronted, "I most certainly do  _not_ , mistress Leia! Artoo has mentioned his former master before now, but I thought he would be long dead by now," His arms jerked slightly as he turned at the waist to regard them with his glowing eyes, "He should be roughly forty eight by now, mistress! Now, I'm no medical droid, but that human looks to be more in his twenties than forties aren't I right, Artoo?" At this, the translator looked around, arms waving, "Oh, Artoo! Do wait for me!"

Once Threepio had shuffled off to find his friend, Leia, Han and Chewie were left by themselves on the bridge.

"Something about that guy is off, Leia," The ex-smuggler leant against his dashboard, "He's meant to be forty eight but looks like he's twenty. He's an Imperial but all too happy to help his worst enemies. We know absolutely nothing about him, but he's on my ship because we need him," He looked to his wife, eyes open and honest, "I don't like it. Not one bit. He's hiding something, something dangerous, and I know it."

"I agree with you, Han, but we do need him. If we act wrong, he could quite easily refuse to help us anymore," A comforting hand found its way onto his shoulder as the wookiee in the background stealthily crept away, "We'll find out what it is, wait until we don't absolutely need him anymore, and then confront him, okay?"

Han chuckled, "You would make an excellent smuggler, you know that, darling?" His head tipped back to grin lazily, but genuinely, up at her.

"I'm gonna take that as a compliment," An answering smirk stole onto her face as they shared a kiss.

"Master Naberrie! Artoo! Where have you gotten yourself, Artoo?" Threepio was wandering the curving halls of the  _Falcon_  desperately trying to find his astromech friend. It wasn't that he was worried for his fellow droid, oh no, Artoo could most definitely take care of himself (any droid who had served in the Clone Wars could), but Artoo was his constant companion, and Threepio got twitchy without him. Having what was basically a veteran always did help a worrier to settle their nerves in the face of imminent short-circuiting.

C-3PO really didn't like the idea of not knowing where his little companion was, "Artoo? Where are you?" More silence greeted his shuffling footsteps as he rounded another corner in the circular freighter, "If you have been conspiring with the air cycler again, master Han shall be most displeased! I do not need you getting in any more trouble!"

He shuffled forwards a bit more, muffled voices drifting from around the corner. The distinctive beeping and whistling from Artoo caused Threepio to hurry up. When he rounded the corner, he found his friend's front panel propped against a wall with all his wiring on show.

"Gah!" Threepio through up his stiff arms, turning his head away from the site, "Artoo, what  _is_  master Naberrie doing to you?!"

Anakin pulled his head and left arm from out of the astromech's body and sat back on his feet, "Oh, hey, Threepio. You looking for something?"

"Yes, master Naberrie," The protocol droid shuffled back a bit more, arms still held before his receptors, "But I would like to know what in the known universe you are doing to that astromech?"

Anakin grinned, patting R2-D2's head almost parentally, "Nothing much, just disabling some inhibitors some Jawa fool put on him," C-3PO didn't even try to look vaguely interested, "You see, they stop him from using any of his weapons systems I rigged him with ages ago," The man dove back into Artoo's belly, "Makes him safe to be around. I bet you put up quite the fight when they tried to get you, huh, little buddy?"

"Artoo has weapons systems?!" Threepio shrieked, his arms rigidly waving about in his alarm, "That must be what's making him so temperamental! Bless my circuits; you must get it out of him!" Anakin blinked, an eyebrow rising.

"Why the Force would I do that? From what I can tell, he'll be more likely to survive with his systems intact and functioning  _with_  the attack protocols," Anakin wriggled about a bit more before working his way out again, holding a clump of wires, "There, got them. Feeling better, Artoo?"

The astromech whistled merrily, his rollers wobbling as he rocked excitedly.

"Thought so."

The droid then got his plating carefully, but efficiently bolted back on. Threepio didn't want to think how many times his friend had been  _tinkered_  with by this man!

Once back in one place, he rolled off, warbling as he went. This left Threepio alone with master Naberrie, the first human he had ever felt distinctly uncomfortable with. Being a droid, he didn't (or wasn't supposed to) feel. However, this man was dangerous; he could  _feel_  it.

Feel it like he could feel the seven million languages programmed into him.

He knew the man was dangerous, and very,  _very_  bad. He didn't know why or how he knew this, but he knew to be cautious around him, just in case he set him off.

But, the same feeling he got of danger and  _bad_ ness told him that he had nothing to fear from him. The man was bad, but he wouldn't hurt him or his other masters.

It was incredibly strange, to know such a thing so surely, but not from his programming, or even his wiring.

He just… knew.

It was a new… sensation for C-3PO, and he planned to heed it.

When Anakin (yes, he was Anakin, now, no one else) first was left alone aboard the  _Falcon_ , it was in the room he had been designated.

The quarters were dark and the size of a cupboard, but even having rooms that were  _his_ seemed amazing.

The last rooms that he had owned and had been allowed to decorate to his will had been at the Jedi Temple.

The Emperor had given him rooms, but they were not private. They had not been truly his.

Han and Leia had made it abundantly clear to him that these rooms were  _his_ , and that they would respect his privacy. That meant they wouldn't go in if he didn't want them to, and that he could do whatever he wanted to them (as long as it could be reversed, just if another person needed the rooms).

When they had presented them to him, he had been shocked.

They had been unable to place his shock, exchanging confused glances and raised brows. Anakin hadn't minded, mainly because he was so shocked at the offer.

He had asked questions about regulations and what they counted as privacy and other things he would need to know to be able to function like a regular, sociable human. They had noticed the amount of questions and had been suspicious (he could tell; they would be utter fools not to be) and they were probably discussing him as he sat in his room, but he really didn't care.

He knew he had to keep them from figuring out too much about him, but sometimes he couldn't help himself.

Like when he woke up.

Like when he saw Artoo.

And just now, when he was given his very own room.

Looking around, he explored the almost rickety looking structure. The walls were a dull light grey, almost giving off light to create a cramped but light atmosphere. The floor was darker from wear and dirt, but not by much.

The only comfortable furniture in the room was a solid looking, grey bed that looked about an inch or two too short for him. The mattress and sheets looked worn and tired, but determined to continue like the rest of the room.

Across the walls there were shelves; rows upon rows of shelves with nothing but dust on them. At least three rows on each wall, apart from the one with the door.

Next to the bed, pushed against the far side of the left wall, was a tiny end table with a swinging light unsteadily standing atop it. Like everything else, it was grey yet determined, giving off a warm yellow light.

To his right stood a lopsided, miniscule desk, the entire top of it glowing gently. The surface was smooth, but docilely sloping up and down.

Overall, it was likely the nicest room he had ever been given. Even Padmé's apartment couldn't match the fact that he could do whatever he liked (within reason) with this room.

Anakin grinned, walking over to the bed and slumping onto it, feet sticking off the end like he had anticipated.

It was perfect.

An adventure with his daughter, her husband and Artoo?

Even better!

Little more than three days into their travel, and Leia was still trying to pin down the personality of Naberrie.

The man was always tinkering away with something, or moving, or sleeping (and he snored obnoxiously, refusing to wake up unless he was well rested – the man slept alarmingly deeply). Artoo had become is constant companion, following his master without hesitancy, leaving Threepio and everyone else to feel almost betrayed by the little droid. But, it was almost ( _almost_ ) cute, the way they interacted all the time, with Artoo passing tools whenever Anakin was waist deep in the  _Falcon's_  innards (Han had yelled and yelled, but the guy didn't seem to get that he wasn't allowed to mess with the ship) and how he could actually understand the astromech. Leia had never met a person who understood binary, and Han hadn't either.

He had other quirks too, like always locking his door (and changing the password every night – paranoid arse), meditating, sleeping at bizarre times and  _always_  wearing something that went down to his mid-thigh  _at least_.

Maybe his strange fashion sense was something that had mutated aboard the Death Star II – enclosed communities developed stuff like it all the time – or he was just an absolute nerf herder when it came to looking less stupid and more battle-ready (or intimidating, either one). And, well, one of the main reasons he was aboard the ship with them was to fight, and they'd never seen him in action  _or_  looking ready for it.

So, she currently had him down as  _eccentric_ ,  _mechanic_  and  _loner_ , for some reason, she always thought he looked pretty closed off and… well…  _lonely_  whenever she saw him on his own.

The strange thing was that the unmistakable feeling of him hiding something didn't bother her as much as it should have.

She knew it, Han knew it, even C-3PO had admitted to having strange feelings about their new crew member.

But, she wasn't worried.

Han was, and so was Threepio (but Han was a paranoid smuggler and Threepio was an equally paranoid fussbudget droid), but she wasn't.

Actually, she  _was_ , but not much. She could feel that Anakin didn't mean her any harm, and her feelings were always right. Something about being Force sensitive and having Vader (shudder) as a father.

So, she sat next to her husband in Chewie's usual seat and stared at the stars as they whipped past the ship in hyperspace.

It was still beautiful, despite her having seen it on a regular basis since she was nineteen. Forgetting thoughts of Anakin Naberrie, she turned her face to the memory-light of the stars.

The stars that were dead, but their light still reaching out to scrape across her and Han's face as they sat in the  _Falcon_.

And they sat in peace, both thinking about nothing but the happy silence of the other's company.


	2. The Executor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've already got five of these ready to go (and posted on FF), and, since I'm very new to this site, these updates will be gradual (still trying to remember to post here)! Hope you enjoy!

Anakin groaned, slowly rolling out of bed. Staying up so late last night to clean Threepio had been a bad idea. Contrary to popular belief, he did have a sleep schedule, and snoozing for little more than two hours broke it.  
The thing was very delicate, and if he broke it even a little bit, he got conked out for far too long, until his body was rested again.  
This was probably because Anakin was a naturally sleepy person who loved his bed, but the Jedi (Obi-Wan, more specifically) had beaten it out of him when he was nine, leaving a strict cycle of “sleep when you can no longer physically keep your eyes open, then wake up ten hours later and stay up for another two days”. Thankfully, his sleepiness only really had two options: sleep now! and I am so darn hyper right now; someone hide the sweets.  
Unfortunately, his thinking about the unfortunate sleeping patterns stopped him from realising he was rolling out of a bed, causing him to land face-first on the floor.  
“I couldn’t just die, could I?” He groaned, tipping himself over onto his back and glaring at the nondescript ceiling. The Force hadn’t let him die. Whoever or whatever that had saved him had not done so by coincidence: they would have recognised him and rescued him anyway. That meant they were either a) evil and wanting him to teach them the Dark side, b) they just wanted to fuck with the Galaxy (highly unlikely but still possible), or c) they were/had been controlled by the Force to stop him from dying.  
Either way, the Force would have dicked about with it one way or another; to keep its favourite tool/torture victim alive.  
And, since Anakin was basically half energy field, he physically couldn’t commit suicide. Which sucked.  
Came with the territory, unfortunately.  
But, as he lay there moping, he knew he would have to get up and start the day, or he would try to die (again), fail, and get asked a large amount of unneeded questions about why he wanted to die. And, quite frankly, that was a conversation he didn’t want to have or even think about. Because then he would have to look at his reasons, too.  
He was almost certain his remaining sanity would wither and die if faced with that.  
Die: lovely word…  
He was stalling. Again. He needed to get up and do… stuff. Like chop five thousand potatoes or fix something or beat the crap out of someone for no reason.  
If being the Emperor’s whipping boy had had one perk, it was having access to unlimited worthless lives that he could mess with and destroy. It was good stress relief and highly entertaining.  
Once more, he was stalling. Without giving himself time to return to procrastinating, he shoved himself to his feet, wobbling a little as he did. Adjusting to being stupidly light again was taking time, but he could still probably kick ass if he had to. Scratch that; he could (would) kick ass, especially if he didn’t have to. He was feeling rebellious.  
So, staggering and stumbling, he reached the door to his room and palmed it open, legs starting to feel less foreign as he exited the cramped space. When he finally reached the cockpit, his movements were once again fluid and graceful.  
Even in that prison of a suit, Vader had been almost elegant in his actions. A deadly, dangerous elegance that inspired both fear and awe, that he was barely aware of most of the time.  
It was how he walked, stood and… did everything. He didn’t concentrate on constantly being silent and flowing; he just was. He had been since before he could remember. Probably had something to do with the Force, mysterious energy field that it was.  
How he moved was another part of Anakin that Vader had been unable to remove, and that whoever he now was still had. Being Anakin and Vader and himself was so strange, because the lines all kept blurring between himself, Vader and Anakin.  
He was trying desperately to separate them out; to make sense of his identities, but it wasn’t working. They all stubbornly stayed in a tangled ball of connections, as if yelling that they were all the same person.  
Which, unsurprisingly, made perfect sense.  
“Naberrie? Naberrie!”  
“Uh… Yes?” Snapped from his (unhealthy) stupor, Anakin blinked at Solo, eyes slowly clearing, “What?”  
The Captain stood up, patting his furry co-pilot on the shoulder as he strode over to his newest crewmember, “You’re hiding something.”  
Anakin’s mouth opened to protest, only for the spacer to talk over him, “No, I don’t wanna hear it. We all know you are, so just don’t, kid. Whatever it is, we will eventually find out, so get a speech ready for when we do – just warning you, got it?” Again, the older (or younger) pilot opened his mouth only to be cut off once more, “For your sake, I hope it isn’t anything too bad,” He then turned and plopped back into his seat, “Leia has some pretty high standards for the crew.”  
Vader stared after Han, his stomach clenching painfully as he kept in his laughter. ‘Nothing too bad?’ Really? He would have to be extra careful from then on – he was enjoying his chance to get to know his daughter without resorting to torture. Or having her trying to kill him.  
The Sith was slowly realising how much the Force loved irony.  
He sighed and turned to leave the bridge, only to find C-3PO watching him warily. The droid technically couldn’t show emotion (he managed worried perfectly well, but still), but the way his entire stiff body was ramrod straight gave it away.  
“Threepio,” The Sith smiled at his old friend, “You feeling better now?”  
“Oh, yes, Master Naberrie!” Despite the clear distrust the machine had for him, he was still very excited about having been cleaned for the first time for ages. Those incompetent scrubs that Leia and Luke classified as proper washes had been grating on his wires for far too long, “My joints are most refreshed! I can see why Artoo would have you as a Master, now.” Clearly, he had been a bit troubled by how his friend could work with someone so evil.  
Anakin smiled knowingly, “Well, I’m glad it helped. Just ask whenever you think something’s wrong.” He made to walk away, before turning back, “And, Threepio?”  
The etiquette droid was now in the doorway to the cockpit, “Yes, Master Naberrie?”  
“It’s Anakin. No need for this Master stuff, okay?” His words left Threepio speechless as he glided away, leaving the droid’s circuits to whir.

THWNN

Leia glowered at the dejarik table. She would be damned if an astromech could beat her, even if said droid was allegedly fifty, and a Clone Wars veteran.  
Artoo whistled rather smugly, and, even though she couldn’t understand binary, she knew he had just won.  
“Artoo, you know you shouldn’t do that. It’s basically cheating,” Vader smirked from the doorway.  
Happy, but exasperated, beeps and whistles followed his entrance, “Okay, okay! I’ll have a go, then. Embarrass you in front of everyone? Sound good?”  
Leia blinked up at him, her hair curled up in braids to either side; “I’m not so sure about that. Artoo’s good.”  
A chuckle, “Who do you think programmed him?” He took the seat Leia just vacated and wiped the board clean with a swipe, “Come on then, Artoo. Let’s see if you can eventually beat me.”  
Leia watched on, amused, as the two battled it out in holochess. The new man seemed to be quite the strategist, but Artoo held his own.  
“So… You play this quite often, Princess?” She broke from her reverie. The two were still playing, but it seemed to be a friendly competition more than anything.  
She shrugged, “Not as often as I should,” He blinked, confused, “I am a leader of the Alliance, so I need to be very… strategic. This helps, apparently,” Her distaste was evident both on her face and in her voice.  
He chuckled, a soft smiled playing with the edges of his mouth, “And is it?”  
“Not in the least.” Leia sighed, staring intently at the board, trying to work out what Artoo could gain from moving his most powerful monster to the middle tile. The game really was confusing.  
The silence resumed.  
“So… Your right hand. That’s a prosthetic, right?” He glanced up from the table, black gloved limb pulling away almost shyly.  
They locked eyes for a second, “Yes… It is,” The game resumed with Leia staring at the glove. Luke had one the exact same, given to him by Vader. She wondered what it looked like; she’d only ever seen Luke’s for a short moment before it was attached to him. It had looked like your average hand, but she guessed that some wouldn’t, “Can I see?”  
Anakin stared at her for a second, noting the way she almost immediately made an apologetic face; she hadn’t meant to blurt the question out, “Well… Uh… Okay, I guess.”  
Glove smoothly disposed of; they stared at his metal limb.  
Unlike most modern prosthetics, this one was a dark, burnished silver and bronze. He could remember making himself a similar one for his and Padmé’s wedding…  
Leia couldn’t tear her eyes away. This limb was so far removed from her brother’s; she was astonished. It looked incredibly old; probably without any neuro-receptors, making it numb. The colouring was odd – she couldn’t see why it was so… almost ornate, but in a subtle and simple way, since no one saw it, hidden beneath the glove as it usually was.  
Artoo whistled his appreciation, before turning back to the board. He, of course, had seen his friend’s prosthetic many times before. He only ever wore the glove in public; he really didn’t like having to hide the metal, but people often stared whenever they saw a cyborg.  
“That’s… It’s… Your arm is so pretty!” The woman grinned, reaching forwards to grab it without a second’s though. Normally, Vader would have utterly destroyed anyone who made any comment about his cyborg-ness, but this was his daughter. It was a touchy subject, as many considered cyborgs inhuman, and, to be honest, he was almost ashamed of it.  
He moved to pull the covering back on, but her grip tightened, glaring at him, “Don’t even think about it! This is far too pretty for you to cover up. You know, my brother, Luke, has got an amputation that’s almost the same.”  
“I heard,” Anakin wasn’t sure how he felt at her insistence to keep the glove off. It would be strange, seeing the flashing metal outside of his room, but, he could live with it.  
“Hmm… Yes, well, it’s much more advanced. Neuro-transmitters and receptors; top of the range,” She turned the machinery over in her hands, soaking it in. Vader made sure to keep still; both so as to not frighten her and to make sure he didn’t either crush her or catch her skin in the metal limb’s rough edges, “This is very, very old technology. When did you lose it?”  
“About twenty three years ago,” The moment he said them, he wanted to take the words back.  
Artoo tooted his sympathy as Anakin used his free, human hand to make his next move.  
“But… How old are you?”  
Now he was screwed.  
He looked like he had at twenty three.  
He could just say that he’d been born without his arm, but she would see through such an obvious lie; he’d implied that it had been amputated. Also, the cauterisation caused by a lightsaber was hard to miss; scarred as his arm was around the stump.  
He could just tell them the truth about his age, and blame his fresh face on being a hybrid with some other species. Romulan/human cross, perhaps? It wouldn’t seem impossible, as human genes were (surprisingly) more dominant than their vulcanoid counterparts.  
“Fourty six. No, wait… It’s two years after the Death Star II, you said?” A nod, “Fourty eight, then.”  
She blinked, “But you look twenty.”  
“I’m definitely in my fourties, Leia,” Anakin extracted his metal from her shocked grasp, turning back to the dejarik board, “I’m not all human, so I don’t age as fast. Before you ask; I have no idea what species my father was. My mother was human, though.”  
The Princess thought it over, before nodding, “What planet are you from, anyway?” They settled back into the game, his glove twisting between her hands.  
“A great big dust ball you’ve probably never heard of,” He deliberated over the board, metal fingers clinking softly as he tapped the controls.  
A smirk from the Alderaanian as Artoo blooped thoughtfully, earning a smile from his old friend, “Try me, Naberrie.” She almost seemed insulted.  
“Tatooine. It’s in the-”  
“Outer Rim, yeah, I know,” She grinned as he looked mildly surprised, “Luke came from there, too. You two are pretty alike, you know? You even look a little like him.”  
He wasn’t sure if that was good or bad; his cover could maybe (very small maybe, but still there) take a hit from this information, but still. It was nice to know his son looked like him, even if it was only a little.  
“Hmm…” He hummed, not knowing what to say to this new information. Instead, he refocused on the holochess board, eyes narrowing as he saw the trick Artoo was trying to pull, “You, my little friend, are very, very tricky, aren’t you?”  
Realising he had been caught, the answering bleeps seemed to be both trying to convince Anakin of his innocence as well as cursing his misfortune.  
Vader chuckled at his old friend’s choice expletives. It was another thing Artoo had picked up from him a long time ago. A flurry of moves later, and the astromech whined pitifully at his defeat.  
“You are the first person I’ve seen defeat that rust bucket, kid,” The room’s occupants turned to see Han leaning in the doorway, his frame relaxed, “How’d you do it?”  
A shrug, “Lots of practice and, well, I taught him. He doesn’t know any more tricks than I do.” Solo chuckled.  
“So, you really are nearly fifty, huh?” Pushing off the wall, he swaggered forwards, “You would make a good smuggler.”  
“I’ll take it as a compliment,” Anakin swiped the board clean, the Captain’s eyes straying to his metal hand for a second before refocusing, “Care for a game? Hundred chits say that I win within fifteen moves.”  
“Well then, kid, prepare to pay up.”

THWNN

Chewie barked out a laugh at his friend’s angry grumbling; “He must’ve been cheating! That bastard had to be cheating! No one is that good at strategy…!”  
He chuckled again, pelt hiding a smirk, “And what do you think you’re laughing at, fuzz ball?! You go beat the arrogant prick!”  
Slowly, as the two lay in their shared room, he calmed from his disbelieving outrage at being embarrassed in front of his wife.  
“Five moves… Chewie, five moves…! The kid’s nice enough, but I swear there is something not right with him. And he’s fourty eight, fur ball, fourty eight! Can you believe that?” Silence descended again as the wookiee rumbled warmly, “There’s just something not quite right about this whole thing; Chewie.”  
He received an agreeable growl/roar in return. “I mean, he’s on our ship and all we know is that he’s an Imp and come from Tatooine. Oh, and he’s also a freaky hybrid that barely ages and been in enough battles to lose a limb.”  
This time, he was greeted with snores from his co-pilot.  
A chuckle found its way out of his mouth at the sound; almost like purring, “Okay, okay,” He whispered, “I’ll shut up and sleep.”

THWNN

Alarms blared throughout the ship as it suddenly was knocked out of hyperspace. Vader stumbled out of his bed, the sheets wrapping and twisting about him like an awkward parody of his suit. The disturbing and unwelcome thought was brushed aside as he thoughtlessly blasted them away.  
He stumbled forwards a couple more steps, abruptly being smashed into a wall as the Falcon juddered again. Once righted, Anakin threw on the clothes closest to him and ran out the door.  
Leia stumbled into Naberrie as she flew down the corridors towards the cockpit. As her legs faltered, Anakin grabbed onto her forearm and yanked her along beside him.  
They got to the cockpit, the Princess leaning heavily upon her (unknown) father as the freighter jolted as if it was about to tear apart and spill them into space. Han was already there, still yanking on his signature jacket, barely stumbling with his experienced spacer legs, “Chewie, what the kriffing fuck is going on!?”  
A panicked roar answered, followed by Artoo wheeling round the corner to bump into Anakin from behind, screaming.  
“Oh, shit…” Solo cussed as he dragged himself into his seat, fingers expertly flicking the switches his ship’s dashboard, “Chewie; all power to aft boosters! Any spare power to scrambler; now!”  
Anakin hissed in a breath as he realised what was going on; they were stuck in a tractor beam. He shoved forwards, hands gripping Han’s seat as he peered over to see the enemy ship.  
He recognized it and let out a stream of swears in every language he knew. Swearing like a spacer barely did anything to relieve the tension arising steadily in him; the ship bearing down upon them was the Executor.  
His dreadnought was here. There was no way the freighter could possibly wrestle away from its tractor beam, and the scrambler would be unable to disable it; he had made certain that his ship had had the best tech.  
“I know that ship; there is no way you can escape,” Han snorted angrily, “Look, I know it, okay? You stop tearing this freighter apart and get us on board, and I’ll be able to deactivate the beam. Possibly make it self-destruct, too, go it?”  
“How in the Galaxy would you know that?!”  
“I… Err… I helped build it! And I served on it for a while too, okay?!” It wasn’t technically a lie – he had a large part in designing most of the technology the Imperial Navy used.  
Han snorted, “Right. You were the personal servant to the Emperor too, huh!?” Anakin flinched, “I’m telling you, that no one is an engineer, a commander and a kriffing pilot, Naberrie!”  
The Falcon jolted again, flinging Leia and Artoo about behind them, “We can talk later, Solo! Just get your ass into the crawl spaces I know you have somewhere; I’ll handle it!”  
“My ship, my rules, pipsqueak,” He stubbornly remained at the controls, even as the Executor loomed ever nearer.  
“I have experience and Imperial codes; let me do this!” He was all but pleading with the Captain, “What’s your plan? Get off and blast them all, then get captured and killed? Give me ten minutes and I’ll have rigged it to self-destruct and disabled the beam.”  
“Han, listen to him!” Leia pulled herself up from where she had fallen, only to almost fall again as another heaving spasm wracked the freighter.  
The fight seemed to flee him, “Chewie…” The wookiee understood immediately, swiftly powering down the scramblers and boosters, “Into the crawlspaces, did you say?”  
“Yes.”  
Solo nodded, and then stalked out with an air of stung pride. The others marched after him, leaving only Anakin and Artoo. His prosthetic hand patted the droid comfortingly, the sound of metal-on-metal ringing through the near silent ship.  
The Executor was upon them.

THWNN

Anakin stood in the hold, staring at the ramp that would soon lower. By his side sat his loyal astromech.  
Their plan was simple, but would be effective.  
He would trigger the self-destruct sequence whilst Artoo shut down the beam; he had uploaded a map schematic to his old friend.  
However, there was a complication.  
The only computer that could trigger the self-destruct was in his old chambers. Only he and the Emperor knew the password to the room, so it would most likely be completely untouched. But, the computers always logged whenever someone entered or exited any of the rooms, meaning that he would have three minutes (at most) to get out before the breach was found and the ship placed in lock down.  
Also, there was a collection of things in his room that he wanted to take with him (weapons and old Clone Wars armour among them).  
He was forced out of his musings as a clear voice rang over the comm; “Unknown freighter; lower your ramp and prepare to be boarded.”  
He smiled; it had been a long, long time since he had engaged in proper battle. His metal fingers deftly keyed in the release code and stepped forwards to ‘greet’ the ’troopers.  
Confident, they stepped onto the Falcon immediately. A beginner’s mistake. Anakin walked towards them, smiling amiably. Artoo twittered besides him, making sure his tone was friendly even as he cussed them out with the foulest combinations binary could give.  
Moments later, as the ‘troopers relaxed checking the freighter over, Vader yanked one of Han’s spare pistols from his waistband and began shooting them down.  
The modified nozzle had a silencer and dampener attached, making the weapon less powerful, but far less conspicuous.  
He had taken down five of the six soldiers before the last one managed to get a shot off. The laser hit his blaster, flinging it away. Anakin didn’t falter; he simply dove forwards, came up with a roll and snapped the man’s neck.  
Artoo burbled happily, carefully working his way around the bodies with the ease of experience.  
The duo stepped off the ship, resealed the ramp and checked in for the dead Stormtroopers with the closest terminal. Then, the astromech went one way and Vader went another, both sure with what they had to do.

THWNN

“Kriffing shit…” Han Solo muttered, his eyes wide as he stared through the grate in the direction Anakin had left.  
Leia shifted uncomfortably, Chewie’s fur making its best attempt to wriggle into her mouth, “What? Is he okay?”  
“Physically? Yes,” He glanced over at her, “Mentally? Which camp does psycho fall into?”  
She rolled her eyes, grabbed the grate and shifted it off with Chewie’s help. The moment she stuck her head up, she knew what her husband meant, “He did this in ten seconds!?”  
“Looks like it,” Han pulled himself out and helped the Princess clamber from the crawlspace. “I didn’t believe him when he said he could fight but… Well…” He shrugged, exasperated.  
“I am just glad he’s on our side, Master Solo!” Threepio exclaimed as he was shoved from the pit by Chewbacca.  
Han chuckled, “No kidding.”  
Once the wookiee saw the carnage their new friend had left, he roared his delight and respect, an almost feral grin baring his fangs.  
“Okay, everyone in position; we need to be ready when they get back.” The group scattered, faces once again grim as they considered what could happen in the upcoming battle.

THWNN

Anakin stalked down the corridors, effortlessly keeping from the monitored corridors (he used the supply/droid/maintenance tunnels instead) to avoid detection. Artoo would have no such problems, as droid were allowed throughout the ship without question.  
It took little more than four minutes for him to find his way to his old chambers; he had often snuck through the tunnels when he just couldn’t deal with walking past all of the incompetent nerf herders on his ship (he would’ve probably murdered them all).  
Once standing in front of the familiar door, Anakin keyed in his code and watched as the black metal slid smoothly away to reveal the bare lodgings. He stepped inside, booted feet not making a sound as he observed what had happened in his absence.  
The room was untouched; there was no dust and everything was as he had left it. His shelves and single desk still held the clutter of half-finished machines and prosthetics. To the left stood a grand deck of anti-gravity drawers, a couple wedged open with various metallic objects. Strewn across the top, various flimsiplast sheets adorned with doodles and architectural designs ranging from new ships to various prosthetics to cartoons. Many of the miniature comic strips were of incredibly silly little things, like Palpatine falling down stairs, or pranks making the Death Star pink.  
Last time he had left this room, he had been in a hurry; the Emperor had just called him to his side. His haste was obvious in how the possessions were still strewn about (he made a point of meticulously hiding them whenever he left, just in case).  
But, he hadn’t broken into his own rooms to reminisce. He had been there for fifteen seconds already, doing nothing. Wasting any more time would be borderline suicidal.  
Ha. Ha. Ha.  
Brushing away his thoughts, Vader stalked to the drawers, his prosthetic flashing in the dim lighting as he sifted through the top two drawers. He soon came across two hand sized cylinders and grinned, pocketing them.  
A few moments more, and the Sith found his old armour, too. He held the ancient garb up, beaming childishly at it. Palpatine would have never let him keep it, but Anakin was nothing if not stubborn, and had hidden this remnant along with Ahsoka’s old Padawan beads. Thinking of the jewellery, he scooped them up, too.  
After that, it took him only a few seconds to set the detonator.  
Business conducted, Vader ran from his room, shutting the familiar door once again, before diving into the Jefferies tubes, “Artoo; I’m done. How are you doing?”  
The answering whistles were pitched high and comforting, the droid seeming pleased with him.  
Not hesitating a moment longer, the Sith efficiently stripped and threw on his old armour before wriggling onwards, the resistant cloth comforting in its familiarity.  
He was back.

THWNN

Solo sat in the cockpit, behind his chair, just out of view of anyone outside. Chewie was manning one turret; Leia waiting by the other. C-3PO was doing what he usually did in tense, possibly life threatening situations – complaining.  
The Falcon was pretty much sound-proof (it was space-proof, so sound-proof was pretty much a given), so there wasn’t any real danger that the droid posed them by nattering on. Well, except to the Captain’s frail sanity that was.  
“I swear, Threepio, if you don’t zip it right now, I’ll-”  
“They’re here!” Leia’s voice echoed through the ship, gleeful tones followed by Han peeping through the cockpit window and grinning. Anakin looked like he was in a dress, but still. The guy was certifiably crazy, anyway.  
He smashed the controls to lower the ramp, still grinning. As he did so, alarms begun to blare, lights flashing red all over the hangar.  
Naberrie looked up, eyes widening. Without thought, he reached down and grabbed Artoo, hauling the thirty two kilogram astromech under his left arm as his other pumped frantically. The remaining distance closed incredibly quickly as he pulled upon the Force to give him an extra boost, not particularly caring if his eyes began to glow their signature yellow.  
The moment they were in the hold, Anakin all but punched the operator terminal to raise the ramp, fleeing up into the cockpit as soon as he saw it beginning to ascend. Along the way, R2-D2 got dumped, his indignant squeal echoing throughout the vessel.  
“Go!” He yelled, landing in the co-pilot’s seat after a Force-fuelled jump over the head rest.  
Han’s eyes narrowed in concentration, his hands having been flipping switches since he heard their newest crew member board, “I’m going as fast as I can!” He looked up, taking stock of the multiple flashing lights and reaching up to flip some of the levers above them, welded into the roof.  
Naberrie soon caught onto what he was doing and began helping him power up the ship and check all of the systems. A couple of seconds later, and the old freighter’s engine whirred into life, “Purring like a kitten.” The Captain’s pride was almost tangible as he yelled for everyone to hang on.  
The Millennium Falcon whooshed towards the rapidly closing blast doors, the thrusters straining, “Oh shit! We can’t make that!” Han exclaimed, making as if to pull away, “We’ll have to blow a hole somewhere else!”  
“No!” Anakin yelled, leaning forwards.  
Solo glared at him, “What the fuck do you mean; no!? We’ll get smashed to bits!” But, as he watched, he saw the man’s eyes bleed into an angry yellow, his hands reaching out in clawed almost-fists.  
“Just keep flying!” His voice was commanding, and a sudden cold bled over Han. Unthinkingly, he straightened the Falcon back up, the others screaming whether he had lost his mind.  
And, before his eyes, the blast doors halted. They groaned and squealed, buckling slowly. From the corner of his eye, he could see Naberrie straining, muscles tense enough to snap. The man’s face was scrunched into a look of utter outrage and viscous stubbornness. There was no doubt that he was causing this.  
Han snapped his attention back to steering his freighter just as they scraped between the doors. The moment they passed the ship, he almost heard the boom as they slammed shut again.  
He threw his hands up; grin fixed on his face as cheering pervaded the ship. Moments later, they were all knocked about violently as the Executor exploded behind them.  
The last thing Han Solo saw was his familiar dashboard rising to meet him, knocking him unconscious with a swift bash to his temple.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All of this work has no beta and is essentially first-draft writing. Sorry its pretty choppy - once it is finished, I plan to do a massive overhaul on it!
> 
> -Ommallaredpanda


	3. Arrival

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the next installment! Two more chapters of pre-written stuff to go...!

Anakin’s eyes slowly opened to the sound of Artoo’s frantic beeping. The droid was hovering over him as if he thought he could ward of anyone who attempted to harm his friend.  
Memories swirled back into place, seemingly having been knocked out of position by the shock wave.  
He remembered Han’s and Chewie’s screams echoing around him as their panic bled into the Force, permeating everything. He remembered his daughter groping at the energy field; instinctually reaching for that lost corner of her that was related to him.  
She had done what he would have; discarded anything that could hinder her and focused on the task at hand, not caring how she completed it.  
That similarity scared him shitless. He would not let his daughter become even remotely similar to him. The Skywalker name would not be tarnished by his legacy any further than it had to be.  
Artoo whistled again, this time far more insistent.  
“Okay, okay!” He levered himself upright, muscles still adjusting to the almost weightless feeling of his own body, “Quit worrying, rust bucket.”  
A more offended flurry of bloops and bleeps, each scurry of sounds linking together to form sentences looped with various insults, usually to his intelligence and self-preservation instincts.  
Legs eventually clambering underneath him, Vader stood. He was in the Falcon’s cockpit, staring out at space. From the readings, nothing was too badly damaged, but the air cycler would soon need some quick patches to keep them from suffocating.  
He sighed, mechanical hand sliding over his face as he checked on the Captain.  
A quick scan and a few light touches later, and it was obvious Solo was simply unconscious, but unlikely to awaken any time soon. He found the rest of the crew in similar states; even Threepio had been knocked hard enough to require some careful therapy with an experienced mechanic before he could function again.  
Anakin was the only person awake (apart from Artoo, but the loyal droid didn’t particularly count as he would never betray his oldest friend).  
It would be so easy to just snap all of the unnecessary crews’ necks and take custody of his daughter. She probably would be a little mad with him but…  
But what?  
There was nothing to stop him. He could just kill them and say that Threepio had been affected by the crash and beaten them all to death.  
He certainly knew how to set it up; there was a rather significant chance of Leia never finding out the truth.  
But they were her friends and family. It would hurt her if they died.  
And, well, he had to admit that they had begun to grow on him. It had been a long time since he had had a fellow mechanic competent enough to keep up with him – if only barely. They hadn’t judged him, either. He had not exactly been welcomed, but almost anyone else would have killed him long ago to preserve supplies.  
Spacers were a rough lot.  
Other than that, Chewie was good company if you didn’t piss him off, and the way their dysfunctional family worked was thoroughly amusing and heart-warmingly reminiscent of his time with Rex, Snips and Obi-Wan during the Clone Wars. They almost made him feel part of a family again, despite the distrustful glances sometimes shot his way.  
They were to be expected. Even from compassionate clowns like this bunch.  
To be completely honest, he didn’t think he could kill them. It was an abhorrent thought; proof that he was going soft. Nevertheless, it was true.  
Even thinking about murdering them left a hole inside his stomach that was suspiciously Falcon shaped, and he was certain that the odd little feeling rising in his gut was guilt.  
Guilt that he had even considered killing the people who had been so kind to him. Guilt that Luke and Leia would probably approve of.  
Oh, well. He wasn’t going to murder them, so he mays as well stop moping over the subject like a teenaged nerf herder.  
Instead, Vader decided to do something productive until the rest of the crew came around and they started asking how in the stars he had kept the blast doors open. And why his eyes went yellow when he did it. And why everything coincidentally became freezing cold whilst he was doing it.  
So, something productive and figuring his way out of the tricky situation his helpfulness had landed him in.

THWNN

Leia groaned, her hands coming up to shield her eyes from the far-too-bright light. Her head was pounding hard enough to put even her husband’s most voracious hangovers to shame and there was a sizable lump on her brow.  
How in the Galaxy had that gotten there…?  
Cautiously, the Princess hauled herself into a sitting position, hands digging into the soft mattress of her own bed. Squinting, Leia looked around her room for the person who had dragged her from the turret controls. Finding no one, she stood and set off to search the ship.  
The unmistakeable din of someone screwing with machinery filtered clumsily through her ears, and she started to wobble towards it. At least someone was still awake after that violent blast. Bloody Naberrie and his bloody recklessness.  
“Han?” She called before rounding the corner. Unfortunately, it wasn’t Han, “Oh, Naberrie.”  
He hauled himself from the Falcon’s innards, “Yes, Your Highness?”  
She rolled her eyes at him. “Did everyone get knocked out?”  
“Yup,” He turned back to the machinery, oil was smeared all over him and his already messy hair was all but standing to attention. “I came to about half an hour ago and made sure you lot were all okay. Then I have to repair the circulator so we won’t all suffocate.” He gestured to the mess of wires his prosthetic was currently shoulder deep in.  
“Ah,” Leia knew literally nothing about ships and their systems. Her extent of mechanical knowledge encompassed the basics of metal limbs and how to repair a swoop, but that was all, “Is it going well?”  
He peered into the mess again before humming an affirmative and yanking out a bundle of wires, “No one will be dying of asphyxiation just yet, Princess. I’m nearly done,” A few more adjustments and he screwed the panelling back into place, “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to get in the ‘fresher.”  
As he breezed past, Leia got a whiff and immediately pinched her nose, “Yes, please do.” His answering snort put a smile on her face.  
There was just something about him.  
He was dangerous; they had definite proof of that, but he seemed to fit in so well. As if they had known him for years. Whatever it was, it had washed away the uneasy feeling, and Leia couldn’t help but be glad for it. It was nice to welcome another person to their little crew/family.  
Shaking the sentimentality from her frame, Leia set out to find her husband.

THWNN

Han woke to the soft bleeping of his cockpit. That, and the angelic face of his wife scowling down at him.  
“Don’t you ever do that again, you hear?” She was berating him. How lovely.  
“Give a man time to wake up, would you?” Solo groaned, gripping the arm rest of the co-pilot’s chair as he sat up. He reached up to rub the side of his head, only to feel a drying scab at his temple, “Ugh… What happened?”  
She sounded decidedly smug as she gloated over his supposed idiocy, “Naberrie’s atrocious plan and your reckless flying got us all caught up in the blast and knocked everyone unconscious! What were you thinking, flying through the blast doors like that? You could have gotten us flattened!”  
“Hold up, Princess,” He raised a hand, halting her rant, “One, my flying is utterly brilliant, and two, the kid stopped the blast doors from closing.”  
He let that sink in.  
“And his eyes were glowing yellow. Literally glowing. Everything got absolutely freezing and he just stopped them. Completely stopped them.” Han stood, still leaning on the arm rest, “It was like some of the things Luke can do, but way, way stronger. And more… I dunno… Sinister, really.”  
She stared up at him, head slightly cocked in thought. “Sinister?”  
“Yes,” His hand ran down his face, eyelids drooping, “It just felt… different. When Luke uses the Force or whatever voodoo nonsense it is, it feels warm. Like someone is wrapping you in a little, calm blanket made of peace.” Leia nodded slowly, “Well, it felt more like he was churning everything up with anger. It was completely different!”  
She hummed thoughtfully, dropping to the floor beside her husband, “Luke did mention something about anger and the Force…” Her head slumped into her hands, “But it wouldn’t make any sense at all.”  
“Face it; levitating shit with your mind using an energy field doesn’t make any sense either,” Han reached out and cupped Leia’s face, gently dragging a thumb over her cheek, “Tell me, okay? Its Luke’s idea, anyway. I can’t laugh at you for them, just him.”  
She smiled, the expression soft, but in no way weak; simply worn, “He said that, if you used emotions to channel the Force, you would be using the Dark Side…” Han gave her a supporting squeeze. The fact that she still needed him to reassure her whenever she was displaying her softer side or any weakness almost hurt, “Well, he said that was what the Emperor and Vader used. That using their emotions made them Sith and that was what made them evil… I don’t know, but it seems possible. You described it exactly as he did…”  
“Naberrie’s a psycho arse hole who isn’t right in the head, but he isn’t evil,” Solo smiled softly. The kid had certainly grown on him and even thinking he could be similar to either of those monsters was daunting, “You sure?”  
“Certain.”  
He sat back, thinking. This was a new, frightening development, “Maybe we should ask him?”  
“So, let’s just go up and straight up ask him if he is affiliated with Vader and the Emperor, then accuse him of wielding evil energy field magic?” Both of their lips twitched upwards in sync at the hilarity of the image the Princess had just described, “I’m pretty sure he’d be insulted.”  
“Possibly.” Han grumbled, mind once again whirring. What could they do with this new information?  
Leia sighed again, her hands wiping over her face, “I’d be insulted if he wasn’t insulted. And worried; very worried.”  
“I still say we should just ask.”  
“I don’t have a better idea,” The couple turned to walk from the room, “Shoot him for me if he tries to Force choke me, Han?”  
“You got it, Princess.”

THWNN

Anakin stepped out of the ‘fresher and clicked his prosthetic back on, water still sliding off of his body. He stood there, eyes closed, as he felt properly clean – being air cleaned by his suit did not count in the slightest.  
Eventually coming back to himself, the man picked up the towel from the bench and tied it around his waist as he snatched up the accompanying head towel. Walking out of the steaming changing area, he ambled towards his rooms whilst scrubbing himself dry with the smaller towel. Vader wasn’t particularly worried with anyone seeing him with little more than a towel to cover himself – Artoo had seen it all before (as had Threepio, even if he didn’t remember it) and the three sentients on board had likely examined him when he was a dilapidated torso suffering from untreated first degree burns.  
Yeah, he wasn’t bothered.  
So, when he walked around the corner, he was surprised to knock into his daughter, just not too embarrassed, whom had been speeding around the exact same bend.  
Leia pulled back blinking, then craned her head up to stare into the face of their newest crew member. She blushed, noticing that he was still damp from the ‘fresher and seemed to be in the middle of towel drying his messy hair.  
Having been bumped into by his daughter, Naberrie had naturally stopped, leaving his hair sticking this way and that. Understandably, it made him look stupidly cute, causing the blush to deepen on both sides (yes, Vader was blushing – it wasn’t usual for him to get knocked into by his daughter every day, and he was becoming pretty embarrassed).  
“Oh… Leia,” He blinked, backing out of her personal space immediately, “You looking for something?”  
“You, actually,” Solo slung his arm around his wife’s waist, pulling her into him and almost leaning against her; the gesture was strangely possessive. Anakin swiftly put two and two together, mentally throwing up at the conclusion. Han thought (subconsciously, at least) that there was a possible threat from the newcomer towards his wife. Which was utterly disgusting, since said wife was also Vader’s daughter. He would have to find a way to dissuade that disturbing thought without giving himself away, and quickly.  
He shook himself back into focusing on the conversation, “What for?” He continued to walk again, scrubbing the water from his skin.  
“We think you’re a Sith.”  
Anakin froze, eyes widening. The two behind him stopped short of knocking into his tense back.  
“Look, don’t be insulted or anything; it’s just that you used the Dark Side. We know you’re not with Vader and those monsters,” Han smiled reassuringly (he really did like this kid), grasping onto his arm, “I could tell, trust me.”  
The guffaw of laughter was, thankfully, trapped behind Vader’s lips as he turned to smile at them, “Well, I’m glad you understand. I used to be a Jedi, then I Fell and was conscripted into the Imperial Navy. Sorry for not being completely honest with you,” Solo patted his arm awkwardly.  
“No harm done. Just glad to know,” He squeezed Leia to him, watching her mouth curl up into a blazing grin, “See? You were right.”  
“Luke will be thrilled…!” The Princess squeezed Han back, before explaining to their confused Sith friend, “He thinks he’s the last Jedi left.”  
Anakin shook his head, holding up a hand to silence her, “I’m not a Jedi. I was, but I Fell.” Their confused gazes were infuriating; didn’t they know anything? “I’m not exactly a Sith, but I used to be. I think I count more as a Fallen Jedi, now. Or a Grey Jedi; but the point still stands. I can’t help your brother,” He ran a hand through his drying hair, “I’m sorry.”  
The couple watched dejectedly as the man resumed strolling to his room. On behalf of their friend, they felt incredibly disappointed; he had been searching for a Jedi who had survived the Purge since he had escaped the second Death Star with news of his father’s supposed redemption and subsequent death.  
“How are we going to explain this to him?” Leia nuzzled into the Captain’s neck, “He’ll be devastated…”  
Solo shrugged, returning the embrace, “Well, at least we now know he’s not evil.”  
“That’s something,” She agreed.  
They didn’t see as the Sith’s hands clenched up behind his back, his entire form shuddering at what they had brought up. The momentary danger was over, but his alarm was not.

THWNN

He collapsed the moment the door was shut and locked. Panic was rising inside his chest cavity, lava burning along his insides. Prosthetic hand clenched, Anakin smashed the fist into his bed, punching a hole clean through the hardened metal. Throat burning for air as he held his breath, the screaming in his head blocked everything out.  
If he didn’t breathe, he couldn’t scream. If he didn’t breathe, that rasping KHOOOOH PUUUHR couldn’t come out of his (not-mouth) vocoder. If he didn’t breathe, maybe it would all go away.  
But the screams in his skull did enough for the wails that couldn’t come out of his mouth (couldn’t breathe couldn’t breathe suit breathe notbreathenotbreatheSUITNOTBREATHE) because of the suit. And the screams were so familiar…  
“Master!”  
“I won’t leave you this time!”  
“General!”  
“You were my brother!”  
“I loved you!”  
If he didn’t breathe, maybe they’d go away.  
Maybe the burning would go away, too. His lungs were shrivelling and dying and burning (oh Force he was burning burning burningburningburningBURNING).  
His mouth worked, the soundless gust of breath unable to make a sound; all of the necessary air was being held in.  
Anakin had perfected the art of a silent panic attack long ago.  
So, as the rest of the ship carried on with the mourning, saddened parents searching for their young child, Darth Vader writhed in the ship’s belly, listening to the cries of his dead friends.

THWNN

It was a day after their escape from the Executor, and Anakin had called the crew to a meeting. Which was very unusual, as the Falcon was home to a family that didn’t do meetings, mainly because they were family.  
“You gonna explain why we’re here, kid?” Han flopped into a chair, sprawling across it leisurely, “We don’t do pow-wows here, so get it over with.”  
Leia hummed in agreement as she shoved her husband’s legs from the rest of the bench and sat. Behind her, Threepio waddled about, clearly worrying about exactly what sort of news could require such a gathering.  
Unlike the others, Artoo and Chewbacca seemed unperturbed by Anakin revealing that he needed to talk to them.  
“We need to consider which hyperspace routes we use,” The entire room seemed to draw breath as the occupants drew themselves up to argue, “Because, the last time we just took the routes that would get us there quickly that are well used, we got captured by the Executor. Understand?”  
That stopped the outcry of quarrelling that had been poised to ensue, “Over three hundred people were killed when I blew that ship up,” They blinked, stunned, “I have no problems with it, but you lot probably do, so. If you want to not kill thousands in pursuit of your son, I would suggest you listen.”  
They all eventually nodded, even Han; they hadn’t given the amount of lives they had helped destroy a thought, “Good. I know of hyperspace routes that the Empire doesn’t… Didn’t use, so the First Order probably won’t either,” Leia leant forwards a little, her eyes lighting up with curiosity. When he didn’t go on, Solo raised an eyebrow.  
The silence continued until the Princess prompted him, “Well?”  
“I need to know who it is you are trying to save and where we are going – I’m not going to let you keep me in the dark about this,” Reasons explained and set before his Captain and daughter, Anakin sat on the bench opposite them.  
Leia didn’t hesitate, “Ben Solo, our son. He’s a… He should be a year old by now, and Force sensitive. We were going to have him trained by Luke… But…” She scrubbed at her eyes angrily, “Luke… My brother disappeared a couple of weeks after Ben’s birth. We had him, Ben, seven months after the Emperor died.  
“Two weeks ago, our baby,” She wrapped her fingers around Han’s, “Was taken. The security holos showed nothing, and… And the investigative teams couldn’t find anything, either…” Leia let out a muffled sob, turning to bury her face in her husband’s neck. Han ran a tender hand over her head, whispering reassurances to her as his own tears slowly rolled down his face.  
Vader sat, frozen. Someone had taken his grandson. The grief he could feel tearing through the Force from his daughter and son-in-law was uncomfortably familiar, “We’ll get him back.” The statement was hard and cold, “Do not doubt it. You may doubt everything else about me, but do not doubt for an instant that I shall get your son back to you.”  
“Th-thank you, Anakin…” Leia murmured as she turned back to him, wiping tears from her eyes, leaving them red and puffy, “I don’t doubt it.”  
His stone cold face dipped, hair flicking into his face, “Good.  
“Now, I’m going to need to do the navigation to get us to… Where?” Anakin brushed the emotion from the air, the nonchalant tip of his head strangely comforting, “Where are we going, exactly? You’ve not told me.”  
Solo sighed, “Yarte 501,” He ran a hand through his hair as he spoke, clearly agitated, “We didn’t want to worry you, kid.”  
The Sith’s eyes almost popped from his head, “Yarte?! Seriously!?”  
“Yes,” Leia scrubbed at her eyes a couple more times before leaning forwards, composure regained, “I don’t know what all the fuss is about. Sure, it’s not the most hospitable planet, but it’s not exactly Mustafar.”  
At the mention of the flaming planet, Vader flinched. If anyone noticed, they pretended not to notice, “’Not the most hospitable planet?’ My fricking 501st didn’t want to set foot there! My 501st!”  
“Your 501st?” Clearly unaware of what he was talking about, the group before him blinked confusedly, “The kriff are you on about?”  
That was a bit of a mess up, “Ignore me. It’s nothing much,” Even Chewie gave him a disbelieving look, but no one dug any deeper.  
“So, meeting adjourned?” Solo stood, eyebrows raised, “Or do we have to sit here for another boring strategy talk?”  
The Sith was about to dismiss them and return to his meditation, when the Falcon rocked under the crew. Artoo and Threepio went flying, Leia nearly did, too, but Anakin caught her and stood firm with his capable legs.  
Han stumbled only a little, righting himself with the aid of a nearby wall, before sprinting in the direction of the cockpit, Anakin and the Princess following seconds later.  
“What in the Force was that?!” He knew exactly what it was; the exclamation was more for him to express his displeasure, “I thought you said this thing was tough, Han!”  
The Captain glowered over his shoulder, his co-pilot roaring from behind them, “You said it, Chewie! Let’s just hope we don’t get nearly eaten by another giant worm-monster this time!” He dove into his seat, hands going fast enough that even Anakin’s Force-enhanced vision could see little more than a blur. He had to hand it to the man; he knew his ship.  
The wookiee tried to ease himself into the second seat, but Vader was already in it, his own fingers going even faster than Solo’s with practiced ease. The cockpit descended into silence; everything quiet except for the rapid beeping of alarms.  
From the window, the crew could see an asteroid easily the size of a couple of cities looming above them. The thing had evidently smashed them out of the hyperlane in the middle of the Outer Rim; lovely.  
“Just our luck…” Anakin grumbled as he felt his daughter leaning over his shoulder to peer up at the hunk of floating rock, “Han, give me the steering!”  
Break away chunks of material were floating towards them far too fast for an average human like the smuggler to dodge, “Are you kidding me!?”  
“Pass it! Now!” This time, his words were layered with powerful suggestion; Han didn’t hesitate this time and Vader wasted no time in swinging the Falcon around and away from the floating mountain, “Hold on!” Smaller head-sized rocks bounced from the shields as he swooped under the larger asteroid, body juddering along with the freighter as larger boulder rushed at them and were deflected.  
Weaving to and fro, eyes closed as he used the Force to guide him, Anakin grinned the moment they were in the clear, eyes opening only to see Mustafar before them.  
“Oh shit…” Around him, his new family exulted at having escaped their most recent brush with death, “I swear that the Force hates me…” He continued to grumble similar phrases under his breath all the way back to his room from the cockpit.  
But, before he left, he had seen that the Falcon had been heavily damaged by the recent impact and would require repairs all but immediately.  
The only planet close enough for them to reach was Mustafar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am evil! Mwahahahahahaha!!
> 
> -Ommallaredpanda.


	4. Mustafar

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone for reading, commenting and kudo-ing! Love every single one of you amazing guys (my parrot is sitting on my monitor right now giving me the eye - he wants some more sunflower seeds, the greedy bastard, but he agrees with me)!

Captain Solo sighed, flicking the inter-ship comm off once again, “What do you think’s wrong with him?” He glanced up at Leia, whom was standing beside him.  
“I’d tell you if I knew…” The two remained in silence as they mulled the problem over, “Maybe his… condition when he arrived has something to do with it?”  
“His deformity?”  
“I’m telling you; he wasn’t deformed! Those were clearly third degree burns, and left untreated for far too long, as well!” She huffed, leaning on the dashboard, “And those stumps? Severed by a lightsaber – it’s obvious!”  
Han sighed, “We’ve had this conversation before: he did not lose his limbs to some Jedi or Sith or other Force-wielding nonsense. He was probably born like that. It’s also none of our business,” A hand ran through his hair, shaking the sweaty locks back from his face. They had begun to enter the atmosphere of Mustafar, and the air con would need to be turned up a lot.  
“Never took you for the type to respect peoples’ privacy,” Leia smirked from the back seat. Chewbacca vocalised his agreement, viscously cranking up said air con as he did so, “And he is on our ship; we should know these things about him.”  
The Captain wrestled with the controls a little more, before gesturing for his co-pilot to take over, “When he left, he was panicking, Leia. He isn’t running from who he was before he got healed; he is that person. But, that person means us no more harm than Artoo does, okay? I don’t know how I know, I just do.”  
“But how did he learn to be a Jedi in the first place, then?” Leia smirked, knowing she had won the argument, “You must be curious!”  
Her husband sighed again, “It’s none of our business. The guy doesn’t need to help us, and I’m grateful he hasn’t attempted to off us and take the Falcon, okay? And losing all of your limbs then your skin to fire? Doesn’t that seem like painful overkill? He’d need to be in a support-suit for life, and the Empire doesn’t take invalids!”  
The diplomat’s eyes narrowed, her brow smoothed and she crossed her arms into a stance that would have painfully reminded her father of a certain Senator. Han recognised the look in those fiery eyes, and barely kept himself from cowering beneath the fearsome “Politician Face”.

THWNN

A sputter of static broke the noiseless room in which Vader was lying, “We’ll hit the surface in about five minutes. Threepio and Artoo are gonna stay with the ship, everyone else is coming to scavenge parts for the Falcon, including you, Anakin, okay? Okay.”  
Transmission ended, the static gave a noncommittal cackle, before once again dying out.  
Go out?  
Onto the fiery surface of Mustafar, again?  
Anakin didn’t think he could do that. Not if he brought Vader to the fore, or if he willed away his doubts with the classic Skywalker charm.  
He rolled over on his bed, buried his face into the pillow and groaned. They barely had any chance of finding anything they could repurpose to fix the old freighter, anyway. The only place on the entire planet not liable to killing anyone foolish enough to brave the surface was his Castle.  
But, there was no way he could tell them to go there. For one, it would completely blow his cover, for two, it would put poor Lekauf in even more danger than he already was on the accursed planet.  
If he didn’t go, his new team would be suspicious, to say the least. Leia would definitely put two and two together, and quite possibly snoop around. That would lead to her discovering what was quite possibly the only source of entertainment the poor workers on this planet had: grainy footage of his and Obi-Wan’s fight.  
Unfortunately, as Vader, he hadn’t had the time or the professional (anything other than pure, Sith-ly aims would get him little more than another round of torture) motivation to eradicate the wide-spread footage. His daughter would probably link the pieces, and this could likely lead to a rather uncomforting discovery. After all, who else would fight Obi-Wan, or have such dramatic injuries? Doubtless, it would explain an awful lot to her, if she found it.  
No, Vader couldn’t allow her to suspect him – who else could protect her from this new First Order?  
Another sigh as he rolled from the bed, smoothly standing. That seemed to be one of the few good things in this situation – having his mostly uninjured body back, as well as getting the chance to know his daughter.  
When she found out… It didn’t bear thinking about. Would she be horrified and afraid, remembering only how he had tortured her and forced her to watch on hopelessly as her adopted father and planet became little more than debris? Or, would she recognize that he wanted to help her?  
Vader paced, these thoughts swirling in his head.  
“Anakin! Get your seven foot ass over here!” Solo’s impatient yelling broke him from his reveries, causing said seven foot ass to stumble towards the door, looking like a drunk with his glazed eyes.  
A robotic silver and gold finger almost smashed the comm as he leant against it, “Yes! I’m coming! I’m not a bloody asthmatic seven foot cyborg ass anymore, so I won’t walk, okay?!” He could almost hear the laughter from Han as he ran. Being Anakin (or, at least pretending to be him) again was definitely doing him some good.

THWNN

In seconds, Vader skidded round the corner and into the cargo hold. Everyone else had already gathered, and was giving him exasperated looks, “What?”  
“You are always late, you know that? Thought the Jedi were more disciplined…!” Solo grinned, just to show he was joking. The sudden closing off of the self-declared Fallen Jedi set him on edge, and the smile dropped, “Oh…”  
“Han!” Leia hissed, eyes darting unhappily between the two men, “Insensitive!”  
Naberrie blinked the cold expression from his face, waving a glinting hand at them, “It’s okay. Don’t mention it.”  
An awkward pause ensued, leaving Threepio to fill the silence with his usual blubbering. Little more than a minute later and Anakin had deactivated him using the Force.  
“You have to show me how to do that!” The Captain smirked, turned to the controls and glanced over his shoulder, “Everyone ready? We’re heading to the big ass building a couple of clicks off, okay?”  
The Princess nodded, “If you get lost, rendezvous with us there!”  
Chewbacca offered a confident rumble, as well as a nod, as Anakin stood frozen, “What building?”  
“The only one on the planet other than some broken mining stations. You’ll recognise it when you see it!” With that, Han punched in a code, lowering the ramp. Heat blasted at them, causing everyone but the Sith to stumble backwards.  
“Shit…” He murmured, planting his feet as his knees began to wobble. The ramp lowered, slowly showing more and more of the ash grey sky, pierced only by two clawing spires. Spires that looked far, far too familiar for anything remotely resembling comfort, “Echuta!”  
“Bloody Ninth Hell, buddy!” Solo pushed himself onto his feet, hand shielding his face from the searing heat, “What’s so bad about fire and lava?!”  
The only answer he received was an impatient growl.  
Han shrugged and walked past the immobile Sith, Leia and Chewie following him soon after.  
Vader simply stood and stared, his entire body shaking from the effort of not simply fleeing, or crushing everything within sight.  
“You were my brother, Anakin!”  
His lungs sucked in the scorching air without difficulty – living on Tatooine had its benefits – and held it there. Hands clasped tightly behind his back, Anakin unconsciously began to fiddle with his prosthetic, sending the occasional finger of electricity jolting through him.  
Artoo whistled, worried.  
“I’m fine, little guy,” The astromech burbled, unconvinced. “I told you, it’s not because of her. Padmé’s fine, now. I couldn’t have killed her – Sidious lied. I still miss her, though…” A rather rude-sounding splat, “No, it’s not because of her this time… This place makes me… Nervous, I guess,” He chuckled softly, yellow-flecked eyes becoming a full, bright blue. Anakin’s voice upped a tone, returning from the deeper chords of Vader to his old voice.  
An approving whistle sounded, even as one of Artoo’s appendages slapped his old friend’s left hand from his right. The breath whistled out from between his teeth, before he sucked it in again. A couple more attempts to regain composure later, and he was no longer shaking.  
“Thanks, Artoo,” Robotic hand resting companionably upon the astromech’s dome, the two stood in happy silence, “I needed that.  
“And I know you’re wondering who I am, now. I am, too. All I know is that I’m Vader and Anakin. Both, not neither, nor just one and not the other. I’m going to try and find a… a balance, if that makes sense. You understand?”  
Comforting burbles answered him as Artoo bumped his leg reassuringly, “I’d best get going now. Gotta stop that pirate from being irresponsible around my daughter, you understand? Turn Threepio back on for me when I go, though, yeah?”  
The droid nudged him towards the flaming lava planet before whirring around and trundling off, his flippancy strangely reassuring.  
Anakin looked out over the ash covered ground towards his old fortress and sighed, rubbing a quivering hand through his already messy and sweaty hair, “Here goes…” He mumbled, taking the few steps it took to set his feet upon the crumbling floor.  
First lurch forward complete, he solidly moved forwards, refusing to look anywhere other than straight ahead. If Leia attempted to enter his Castle, she would be subjected to the many safety measures and booby traps littering the place. She would also probably uncover Lekauf, whom was hiding out there with his family. The man would be nearing the standard retirement age by now – sixty eight or so.  
In the distance, Anakin could see his daughter, Han and the Wookie trudging along looking thoroughly miserable. They weren’t far enough away for it to be impossible to catch up to them before they wandered into the first field of traps, so the Sith sped up, still unwilling to look at the planet surface.

THWNN

“Hardly romantic, is it, Han?” Leia smirked, grasping his fingers tighter as she tugged the whinging man along, “Whoever built their home here must have been crazy.”  
Her husband grumbled, dragging feet ploughing furrows in the ash behind them, “Agreed…” He mumbled, eyelids drooping, “Just hope they’re friendly…”  
Trudging along a little longer in silence, someone eventually spoke up. Unfortunately, it was Chewie, leaving Leia out of the loop, “What did he say?” She glanced over her shoulder at the walking carpet, eyes curious but also a little annoyed – being constantly left out of conversations between husband and his best mate does that to a woman.  
“Kid’s catching up with us. Got over his fear of… Black? Ash? Sand?” Anakin had drawn rather close, and his lips twitched up a little, despite the pale look to his face.  
“I’m not a kid, Solo!” He smirked a little wider as he yelled over the crackle of lava, eyes still solemn despite any attempts to mask it, “Twice your age!”  
Solo snorted, “Say that when you look it!”  
“Only if you’ve got a time machine,” Anakin’s smirk took on a knowing glint, as did his clear blue eyes. The Captain got the distinct feeling the kid knew something he didn’t, but let it pass.  
“I’d kill for one of those!”  
“Tell me about it…” Expression swiftly becoming contemplative and almost… sullen, Leia elbowed her significant other’s ribs, shooting him a look that screamed ‘insensitive!’ at him.  
Silence restored, the group returned to plodding on.  
Every so often, Anakin would halt, legs and knees shaking frantically, his face would become even more sickly, and his clear blue eyes would glaze over, shedding unnoticed tears. Each time, the group stopped and waited. Their shell-shocked member would piece himself together and scrub his eyes furiously before marching on as if it never happened.  
No one mentioned it. They had a distinct feeling that to do so would be fatal.  
After half an hour of walking, Solo whining every other second, Anakin spoke up, “Stop!” Despite his painfully obvious terror at his surroundings, the Sith had been marching at the head of the group. His mechanical hand lifted up into a fist – the Imperial Navy’s signal to halt, “Everyone; Configuration B Two!”  
“What?” Han stared at the almost menacing (if not for the slight quivering) figure before them, “The kriff are you on about?”  
Leia made her own sound of confusion, whilst Chewbacca froze. A low growl rose in his throat as he lumbered forwards, eyes narrowing.  
Flinching, he turned to face the enraged Wookie, “ _I served in the Wars, Warrior-Leader_.” Shock clearly seemed to register, as the said Wookie almost stumbled backwards.  
He let out an inquisitive rumble, raising a single hairy eyebrow as he did so, “ _Then you should be far older, young one_.”  
Han looked both surprised and a little hurt. “What language are you too talking in? Chewie, you’re my mate! Quit conspiring!”  
Chewbacca launched a familiar rumble at his friend, the smirk obvious only to Solo.  
“The heck’s Alla-… Alpaca? That’s a language now?”  
Anakin’s eyes widened as he realised what the Wookie was attempting to do, “No! You cannot tell them! What right do they have to know?!” Irises glowing with yellow, righteous anger, he gripped the Wookiee’s shoulder hard enough to bruise.  
“Get your hands off of Chewie, kid!” Han stepped forwards; unconsciously puffing himself up, “And know what?”  
Snarling, the prosthetic tightened as Vader glowered down from molten eyes, “You have no right!” He hissed.  
Solo glared back up, seemingly unintimidated. But, the Sith could feel barely controlled terror reeling in the Captain.  
Harsh breathing permeated the air; the sound far too familiar for anyone’s liking. Within seconds, Anakin seemed to both hear and recognise the sound, releasing Chewbacca as he stumbled back, hands going to his face and yanking at the air around his mouth. He fell to the ground with a thump, ash swirling up and being sucked between his lips, causing him to begin retching, abject terror easy to see in his face.  
Eventually, he stopped writhing, eyes clamped shut and hands curled over his ears. Leia was the first to approach; she knelt down and checked his pulse, only to blink in surprise, “He’s not breathing… He’s not breathing!”  
“No… I’m fine…” A silver and gold hand gently gripped the Princess’ upper arm as Anakin sat up, taking deep, careful breaths. He smiled almost weakly at her, his blue eyes sad, “Don’t worry. I’ve lived through worse.”  
The group stood uselessly, shaken. Their downed member shoved himself upright, swaying only a little.  
“Can somebody explain to me what the fuck is going on?” Han grumbled, arms crossed and legs slightly spread in a power stance, “Cos I’m pretty sure I just heard a certain characteristic air-filter.”  
Leia froze, as did Anakin.  
“What?!” She screeched, pupils darting, “That bastard is dead!”  
“Yeah, well, just heard something like his breathing, okay? Don’t shoot the messenger!” Solo held his hands up, palms forward.  
Chewie rumbled something as he rolled his eyes at the humans (and kind-of-human/cyborg).  
Han snorted, “The Force? You seriously buy into that crap, Chewie?” Anakin pulled his best offended expression – Obi-Wan would not be happy if he looked down from the afterlife and didn’t see him doing something.  
Another rumble.  
“He says this place is a Force hotspot and that your old man fought here ages ago, and that his ‘Force ghost’ probably visits often,” A long suffering look passed the Spacer’s face even as he spoke, evident that his companion was threatening something terrible if he didn’t translate.  
Anakin stared at the fuzz-ball in astonishment. Chewie was covering for him? Why? The creature had probably figured it out from his injuries and reaction to this place already, let alone his smell, “ _You honour me, Free Being_.” The traditional words slipped from his lips before he could stop them, as did a swift head-dip, which was as far as the proud desert children could get to bowing of their free will.  
“ _Do not make me regret it, General_.” Chewbacca patted the smaller man on the shoulder and grinned, “ _Or I’ll tear the other one off_.”  
Threat delivered, he turned back and conversed with Han for a little, leaving Leia to glance around warily, blaster clutched in her hands.  
Unconsciously, his metallic hand rubbed the shoulder of his left arm, wincing as he imagined being armless again.  
“Hey, Leia?” Vader sidled over to her. Startled, his daughter almost jumped a foot before relaxing.  
“Yes, Anakin?” She still held the weapon, but looser and at her side, “What?”  
He smiled at how she seemed to relax, as if he made her feel marginally safer, “Don’t think too much about Vader having a presence here. He’s pretty much gone now, so he can’t do anything other than watch.”  
“Pretty much gone?”  
“No-one is ever truly dead, Leia. Echoes always find a way to live on. If not in body, then in spirit,” Holstering the pistol, his daughter sighed and rubbed at her forehead, as if warding away a headache.  
“Thanks,” She looked up, giving a small, fragile smile. A real one; not just a politician’s mask. Oh Force, she looked just like Padmé, “It’s just… I’m not paranoid or anything – that bastard tortured me… I wouldn’t put it past him to be revived and make our lives the Seventh Hell.”  
“Yeah, well, you got me to protect you now, too,” Anakin grinned. He was talking to his daughter, and she wasn’t screaming, crying, shuddering or fleeing, “You’ll be untouchable!”  
Leia laughed a little. Something about Naberrie made her feel safe and relaxed; like coming home to hot chocolate and warm blankets, “Thanks. I needed this, Ani!”  
He froze.  
Ani.  
“Come away with me! Let’s raise our child together!”  
A flinch followed almost immediately after. His eyes became watery and the last flecks of yellow burned just a little brighter as he unconsciously bit down on the knuckle of his left hand.  
“Hey…!” His daughter stared, confused, “What is it? Did I say something? Whatever it is, I’m sorry.” Without hesitation, Leia folded the most-definitely-not-crying man up in her arms, giving him a reassuring hug.  
Solo, who had been watching, stood perplexed. His Princess could barely bring herself to laugh, let alone comfort and deliver hugs. An odd feeling in the back of his head demanded he be jealous and angry at this man hugging his wife, but the image just seemed so right. There was nothing remotely romantic about the embrace – if he hadn’t known better, he would have thought the two were family, or at least old friends.  
“Feeling better?” Leia pulled back; face gentle, “What set this off?”  
Thoroughly embarrassed, Anakin ran a hand through his hair before scrubbing furiously at the non-existent tear tracks, “Ani. It’s a… nickname someone used to call me and they… were murdered. Don’t worry ‘bout it.”  
“Do you want me not to call you that?”  
“Well, it’s better than ‘Little Ani’. I don’t mind if you call me it,” That smile and those brown eyes made him want to curl into a ball and weep over his lost love, then, in a rather shy and quiet voice; “Actually, I’d prefer it…?”  
Leia grinned and stepped back, looking towards Han, “Got it, Ani!”  
“'Little Ani’?” Solo smirked, “Well, if that’s not blackmail, I don’t know what is.”  
Vader snorted, blue eyes rolling, “Shut your face, Captain Bantha-brain.”  
Insult delivered, he smirked right back as the other two sniggered.  
“Real mature, Little Ani.”  
“I know.”  
“You’re a twelve year old.”  
“Why, thank you.”  
“You’re impossible!”  
“I try my best.”  
“Ugh!” The Captain turned to Leia, “Control him, would you?!”  
“Why me?” Leia put on her most haughty look, “You’re the Captain. He is a part of your crew, therefore your responsibility!”  
“’Cos you’ve adopted him as your… your replacement daddy!” Solo scowled, eyebrows drawing down. Anakin prepared to batter down the hatches and prepare for the upcoming emotional maelstrom, but was pleasantly surprised.  
Hardly the most royal snort escaped her lips, “We’re the same age, Captain Bantha-brain.”  
It seemed that his daughter was far better at accepting loss than he was.  
“Oh, I give up!” Solo through his hands in the air, “There is no point with you Skywalkers!”  
Leia broke into a grin, her face becoming far younger as she did so, “If that’s settled, let’s get moving then.”  
“Wait!” Anakin yelled before his offspring could wander onto the first mine, “This whole ash-field is booby-trapped!”  
“Ah…! So that’s what the yelling was for before!” Han grinned, “How do we get through it, O Jedi?”  
Vader grumbled something under his breath before looking over his shoulder, “I’m no Jedi.”  
“But you can get us through, right?” This time, the question came from Leia.  
“Of course I can,” He harrumphed, looking rather offended, “Just form a single-file line behind me, okay? Solo; have enough brain cells for the task?”  
The Captain threw his hands up in resignation and exasperation, “You bet your sheltered Core world ass I do! Just can’t understand your military jargon!”  
Instead of retaliating, Anakin stalked ahead, making certain the path was safe for his daughter, who came right behind him. Each step could kill them – the only warning they could get would be a faint tingling through the Force just before his foot came down.  
After a half hour that felt like an entire day, the group arrived.  
They stared up at the black castle walls, shattering the angry orange sky around it. Where the smooth metal buried into the soft, grey ash, there was a border as the different shades clashed.  
“Damn… I did not realise it was this big…” His daughter had a blaster-brained flyboy for a husband.  
“That’s what distance does, you scruffy nerf herder.” She just stole his next mental insult. Vader didn’t know whether to be pissed or pleased that his offspring took after him so much, “This guy really does like black.”  
Han grinned, “Think he’s an emo?”  
“A what?”  
“Really emotional and depressed and is always saying they’ll commit suicide?” At Leia’s blank face, the mischievous grin became an equally mischievous smirk, “Don’t have those in Royalty-world?”  
The blank expression swiftly morphed into a scowl, “Do you really want to have that argument here?”  
Cowed almost immediately, the group returned to staring up at the seemingly insurmountable structure.  
“How the heck are we gonna get in there? And, it’s gonna be as booby-trapped as the…” Solo seemed to be floundering for a word to describe the desolate wasteland they had approached the castle from.  
“The front drive?” That earned Anakin a little smirk and nod.  
“Yeah, Little Ani got it in one. You want a sweetie?”  
“I’m sweet enough thanks, keep it for those in need,” The two men exchanged a grin.  
Leia rolled her eyes as the male bonding, “Maybe we should try to find the gates? Whoever owns this place needs to get in and out.”  
Han glanced at Chewie, who rumbled at him, “Me and the fluff ball wanna take a vote, Your Highness.”  
“Good. I vote left.” Her hands rested on her hips as she glowered at the title.  
“Err… Right.” The husband looked a little caught off balance by the swiftness of her decision making. “Chewie? Lil’ Ani?”  
“ _Which direction, Sith_?” The Wookie glanced at Vader as he spoke, body language clearly displaying the distrust he felt, “ _This is your home, isn’t it_?”  
“ _It **was**. The gateway is left_.”  
Chewie jerked his head in the direction Anakin provided and started off, moving at a quick marching pace. Evidently, his identity was irking the usually calm fuzz ball.  
“Well then.” Leia looked as if she was about to turn on her heel and stomp after the Wookie, before seeing the slightly hurt look on her other half’s face, “Come on, Han. Chewie doesn’t need to follow your lead all the time. You’re still best friends forever and all that.”  
He chuckled uneasily, rubbing his hand through his hair, “Yeah, I know.”  
“Good, let’s get moving,” She grabbed his hand and gave him a small smile before pulling the hapless man along behind her.  
Anakin smiled as the young couple walked off, their voices a strange harmony.  
“Lekauf?” He turned to the wall and crossed his arms, “It’s me. Don’t ask how I got out of that walking prison; I don’t know myself, yet. We’ll get to the main entrance in about fifteen minutes at the current pace, and I want them open.”  
Within seconds of making the demand, a section of the thick metal folded out to reveal an old-fashioned screen occupied by a man who looked to be in his sixties, “If you are who you claim to be, I must apologise in advance.”  
A sigh; he knew this had been coming, “Ask away, ‘Kauf.”  
“Password?”  
“Shmi.”  
“Last name?”  
“Skywalker.”  
At the next question, the Imperial lowered his head in apology, “Childhood occupation?”  
“Tatooine slave.” Vader kept his face straight and his voice didn’t waver, but his eyes did flare a sickly yellow.  
“Injuries?”  
Lekauf received an accusing glare.  
“I’m sorry, sir, but I cannot allow you in without making absolutely certain,” He looked as apologetic as he sounded.  
The flaring yellow died down, and the list flew from his lips with rehearsed ease, “Untreated first degree burns – ninety five percent of skin and muscle tissue. Severely damaged lungs, trachea and larynx. Half-melted bones supported by steel implants, including the skull. Atrophied muscles; specifically in stomach lining and large intestine. Amputated limbs.”  
Almost immediately, the Officer’s eyes widened as he allowed the cool, Imperial mask to fall, “Sir? I can’t believe it! You’re… You’re supposed to be dead!”  
“Yes, well, we both know how hard dying is for me,” The two chuckled, minds going back to simpler times, “How are you finding your lodgings? It’s a bit bare, but your wife probably fixed that ten minutes after she stepped inside.”  
Lekauf’s face fell and a long, drawn out sigh floated through the screen, “She didn’t make it, sir.”  
“Who?”  
“Fett. Turns out there was a bounty on our heads; you know how it is with anyone who retires. He got Jane, but I managed to fake being dead convincingly enough to get here.” Even at the mention of said wife, he began to look wistful, despite obvious attempts not to.  
The silence began to grow awkward, “Ugh… Sorry to hear it. She was a tough woman.”  
“Yeah, well. It was ages ago; I’m getting over it,” The two knew exactly how little either of them had ‘gotten over’ their dead wives, but neither spoke their shared thoughts, “There’s something you need to know, before you set off.”  
“Yes?” Anakin would need to leave within the next minute if he wanted the crew not to realise he was missing, “Make it quick.”  
“There are people here. Other people. They arrived little over two years ago and they’ve only left once; a month or two after they arrived. They don’t know I’m here, but they’re dangerous.” A sudden beeping sounded from outside the screen, “I don’t have any feed within the walls, so they know their tech. I know you can handle them, sir, but please be careful.”  
Anakin nodded, “Got it, ‘Kauf. Do you know them? Would I know them?”  
“I’m… Not sure.” He looked to the side, brow furrowing in agitation, “I managed to get some blurred holos. One is an orange humanoid with a strange hairdo; the other is a shorter, aged humanoid male wearing blue-and-white armour.” He vanished from the screen after a moment, the vague sounds of frantic typing followed his disappearance, “Sir, you need to get moving. The Falcon crew are going to notice you’re not there soon.”  
“Got it. You take care and…” He hesitated, eyes thoughtful. Hearing the pause, Erv reappeared on the screen, puzzled.  
“Yes, sir?”  
“Don’t call me sir, okay? I’m Anakin Skywalker.” The statement was followed by a cocky grin, “But the crew don’t know that. I’m a Naberrie to them.”  
“Understood, General Skywalker.”  
“I get to call you Erv, you get to call me Anakin, okay?”  
“Yes, Anakin…” The Imperial rolled his eyes. His friend had always been rather insistent on the fact that they were equals the moment they had become friends. For a Dark Lord, he was an incredibly loyal man, “Now, you really must go.”  
Another cocky grin and a salute before the Clone Wars veteran fled from the screen, heels kicking up dust.  
Lekauf flicked the machine off and rested his head in his hands. Everything had been normal and fine, apart from the two unwanted residents, now his old boss was back from the dead. Nothing but trouble followed him everywhere, “I was getting bored, anyway.”  
Sixty eight year old bones protesting far more than they should, the old Officer stood tall and strode across the room to a high-security vault lodged within the wall.  
He typed in a code with practiced ease before scanning his hand and eye. The wrist-thick doors then swung open soundlessly to reveal three well-oiled blasters.

THWNN

“Anakin Naberrie! Where in the fucking Galaxy have you been?!” Leia pretty much screamed at him as she stomped over, arms crossed and eyebrows lowered.  
He stared at her. If he needed any more proof that this was his daughter, he most definitely had it now, “I was… Err… Taking a dump…?”  
“For half an hour?!” Her voice rose to the screech that only women seemed to be able to accomplish.  
“Yes!” The words weren’t shouted, just rushing to tumble from his mouth, “It was a giant one.” At her disbelieving look, Vader decided that the too-much-information tactic was required, “And now my arse hurts, and is quite probably bleeding.”  
Han snorted from behind his wife and covered his mouth when she shot a glare at him, “Fine,” She grumbled as she turned back to face their previously missing crew member, “But tell us next time you plan on ‘taking a dump’,” She managed to inject enough sarcasm into the last three words to make even Vader wince (that was one of the two things he was known for in the Imperial Navy; killing people who pissed him off and biting sarcasm).  
Solo lagged behind Chewie and Leia, whom had taken the lead and fell into step besides the Sith, “Nice story.”  
“Thanks.”  
“Well, now you’re in exile until you make it up to her,” They both knew who the Captain meant.  
Anakin sighed, “Oh well.” The conversation paused, leaving a comfortable silence.  
“What were you actually doing, then?”  
“Just taking a shit the size of the Death Star.”  
Han shot a scowl at Vader, “You seriously gonna play this with me? We all know that’s a lie.”  
“Yup.” Sensing the aura of slightly alarmed concern emanating from Solo he sighed and elaborated, “It was nothing dangerous,” The smuggler saw the little loophole and harrumphed disbelievingly, “Nothing dangerous to anyone. I promise.”  
“Well, you break that and you’re left for Chewie, are we clear?”  
“As transparisteel.”  
“Good.”  
For the remainder of their little hike the two nattered on about mechanics and how to modify the Falcon. In the mentioned conversation, Solo mentioned that his freighter was actually a Corellian YT-1300. Then, their little talk devolved into hopeless fanboy-ing on both sides.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Love Han and Vader. They are so similar, and I think that the general portrayal of Vaderkin not liking him/thinking he's not good enough is wrong - he was a slave who married a queen, and not a hypocrite. So!  
> -Ommallaredpanda.

**Author's Note:**

> And that's a wrap! Hope you enjoyed!


End file.
